


Kiss or Kill

by Conduitstreetcat, TheGreenFaerie



Series: Symbiotic Criminal Psychopaths [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Major clash of wills, Moran's had enough, POV Alternating, Post-Reichenbach, Sebastian isn't falling for Jim's shit, We both cried writing this, mormor, so many feels, we need to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14583459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conduitstreetcat/pseuds/Conduitstreetcat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenFaerie/pseuds/TheGreenFaerie
Summary: It's a year after Rooftop Hell, and Sebastian Moran has had enough of pining for his heartless bastard of a boss. He decides to get out there and live again.But Jim Moriarty has other thoughts...Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0FZiDCR8dPa1foz1tUWqNLThis contains the music we listened to for inspiration for this book, as well as songs that reflect the different chapters.A breakdown per chapter is in the end notes.





	1. Thorn in My Side

I've been dreaming of this day, Jim. One year - one fucking year. It’s been so hard for 364 days not to blow a hole through my fucking head. Not to drink myself to death. Not to start a fight with some arsehole so I’d get beaten, stabbed, anything… But no, you wouldn’t approve, would you - Well, maybe you’ll appreciate this more, drama queen - I’m on The Rooftop. On the anniversary of your murder-suicide. Because I died that day, too. And you're the one who killed me - the only thing missing was my body - dead on the rooftop… your gun smoking in my hand. It’s the perfect fucking scene, and I’ve dreamed of it every day - it’s too bad you’re not here to appreciate the drama, Jim. I got your letter - the one you arranged to send me posthumously, arrived yesterday - nice fucking touch. I was a howling, sobbing mess by the first line – “Miss me, Tiger?” Jesus - even in death I’m your toy.

Only it got me thinking... all those things you ordered me to do - they don't mean shit now that you're gone. Boss. I don't feel scared or elated or thrilled by your commands. Boss. Because you're fucking dead. BOSS. I’ve been suicidal for 364 days – Most of those days I’ve been an apocalyptic monster, and the rest, a broken shell. It's only been the last month that it's been dawning on me - You did this because you don't care about my heart. And if you don't care that I would drown for 364 days without you, and most likely die on this very rooftop, then- then- "Go fuck yourself," I mutter. Then louder: "Fuck yourself, James Moriarty." I look around the rooftop, then walk over to the edge. People are walking around the streets, not being tortured by their dead bosses, or uncaring, sadistic lovers. The sun is beaming down on my face and against my shoulders. I haven't felt good for so long. Tears are streaming down my face. I realize I want a beer more than I want to kill myself. It’s Day 365, Jim - and I want something more than I want to die in a pool of blood. I raise my hand up in the sunshine, and I give you the finger. Consider this my letter of resignation. I head for the door and promise myself I'll throw your gun into the Thames on the way home, and pick up someone blond tonight. Happy fucking anniversary. Sir.

 

 _London, you horrible slut of a city, it didn't take you long to move on, did it? Move on without me, without Holmes, like we never were, like we never mattered. For four years you were my bitch, not moving without my say-so, and the moment I'm dead, you act like I never existed. You're all the same. Well, daddy's back, and though you're acting like you don't recognize me, you will feel my iron fist soon enough, and you'll groan for me, bend for me, let yourself be taken by me all over again._  
_Fuck, but it is good to be back. I thought I'd die of boredom in fucking Tuscany. Peasant country. Not even having the chance to play with the locals, laying low - it's not in my nature. I like to make an impression, and instead I was stuck among fucking sheep all day._  
_Right London, I'm ready to get my claws into you again. Let's see what Seb has done with the Empire while I was away. If he's done well, he'll get to fuck me, if he's fucked up, I'll cut something off. Either way, it's going to be a good night. I wonder what he thought of my letter._  
_I get a cab, pull up a few blocks away from the house in Knightsbridge, walk the rest of the way. He hasn't changed the locks, good. Can't wait to see his face. Wonder if he'll punch me or kiss me first._

 

I slam my apartment door shut behind me. I’ve never wanted a shower more – other than all those depraved nights with Jim, that left me slick with sweat, blood, and- No. Don’t think of that. Tonight is not about the past. It’s about fucking liberation. But first- I pad over to the fridge and pull out a beer. Throw myself onto my couch. Pop the cap off. The cold liquid streams down my throat. I sigh with satisfaction. Where should I head tonight? I was thinking of someplace with a lot of horny men, just to get as far away as possible from the last few years of my life. I picture myself wrapped around a a blond man, big, muscular, panting. Nothing. My jaw sets and my hands curl into fists. You will not do this to me, Moriarty. I’m free from you now. Once I have enough whisky in me, and a hand down my pants, I’ll be myself again. I can do this. I will do this. And my first orgasm as a free man I’ll dedicate to you. Hope you like your anniversary gift, sweetheart. I throw back the rest of my beer, and walk to the shower.

I peel off my jeans, and the black t-shirt I’ve worn for too many days. I look at myself in the mirror. My hand brushes against scars from Moriarty – still there, but fading. You may have marked my body, but for the first time in a long time, my mind is my own. I stare into my own red-rimmed eyes, and see a glimmer of something amidst the grief. It’s fury. And it needs a body to slam into, or I will tear this whole city apart. “Moran. Get into the fucking shower now, and you’re going out to celebrate this shit being over. That’s an order.” I give myself a mock salute, and take a moment to savour the feral smile on my face. That’s my killing smile. I’ll have to tone it down to not scare off potential partners – but underneath, it will still be there. Simmering. Ready to kill off the spectre of Moriarty still lurking in my psyche. There’s no escape. I point a non-existent gun at the mirror, and pretend to shoot. Bang. My condolences on your untimely death… darling.

 

 _I hesitate in front of the apartment. It’s odd, being back. The door still has the old stain from that time you carried me back here after I’d been shot in the thigh, holding me in your arms like a blushing bride, leaning me against the door whilst you were on the phone threatening the doctor with gruesomely killing his extended family if he wasn’t there in three minutes. And the many flecks of paint that jumped off when either of us would storm out in a huff, only to come back an hour later for spectacular make-up sex._  
_I smile at the memory. I’ve missed you, Sebastian. Can’t wait to rule this city with you again. The spider and his tiger. I point, you kill. We’re a great team, Moran._  
_I look at my hand, the expensive bottle in it slightly trembling. Am I nervous? To see Moran? Madness. Of course not. I pull myself together, open the door, walk in, expecting you to jump out with a gun at any moment. Huh. Nothing. Then I hear the shower. I grin broadly. Oh, excellent. The only thing better than a naked Moran is a wet naked Moran. I hang up my coat, carry the bottle over to the bathroom, open the door with a wide smile. “Did you miss me?”_

I hear a muffled sound, and listen for a moment. Nothing. I go back to rinsing myself off. Warm clouds of steam surround me. I breathe in deeply. I'm so ready for this. Stamping out the last of Moriarty with a celebratory fuck. Driving in the last of the coffin nails while I slide into a willing partner who is not Jim fucking Moriarty. I slide my hand down to my cock, wondering what it will be like. My heart seizes at the thought, and I remove my hand quickly. Try not to hyperventilate. Small steps. Just go slow, Moran. First things first. Get out of the shower. I look up to the ceiling, and close my eyes. When I leave this shower, I know there's no turning back. Can I really do this? Yes. YES. Who's going to stop me? "Did you miss me?" I hear your voice, and freeze. Oh, good - an auditory hallucination, just to make things easier. My internalized Moriarty is putting up a fight, is he? I hear someone clearing his throat, and I open my eyes. To see Jim watching me through the steam. I start shaking. Now it's visual hallucinations, too? Jesus - FigmentMoriarty isn't playing around. He looks amused and perplexed. My heart is slamming in my chest. OK - this is clearly PTSD. It takes me back to the first days, when I swore I saw him around every corner. I would give chase, and always end up a sobbing mess on the ground. No more. I will not shed one more tear for you. I turn off the water abruptly. Jim is staring at me, a smile on his lips. "Motherfucker. Didn't I put you in the ground?" I growl, trying to calm myself down. "Get out of my fucking head!"

 

_Head? Ah, you think I'm a hallucination? "I'm touched. Did you hallucinate me many times, Sebbie?" The bathroom looks rather less tidy than it used to. Used towels on the floor - I'd have cut you for that. In fact, the entire apartment looks like a fucking pig sty. I thought army men were supposed to be tidy. There're empty bottles and cigarette packets all over the place, fag butts stubbed out on any old surface, burn marks. It's a wonder you didn't end up setting the place on fire. Time to bring some discipline back here.  
"Well? No welcome back hug? Tell me if you're planning to punch me; this bottle is six hundred quid, wouldn't want it to smash on the floor." I look up at you, smiling. You look like shit. You've lost weight, quite a lot; there are black circles under your eyes, and a few new stab marks on your arms - got into some fights with people with knives. But your eyes are worst. They look... empty. Soulless. For the first time, I wonder if my disappearance may have affected you worse than I'd imagined._

 

I squint through the steam - it's slowly dissipating, but the hallucination is not. FigmentMoriarty is holding on stubbornly. It's usually just a flash, not- not this. Not Jim appearing from the steam like a fucking vampire through the mist. I lay my head against the shower wall, and let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. Am I going to need to see a head doctor? Get dosed up on fucking pills? Fucking Jim. "Even in fucking death, you're a thorn in my side," I say softly. "You won't be happy until I'm ripped to shreds, will you?" I look back, afraid. Still there. Only now - there's the strangest expression in his eyes. Guilt? Sadness? Tenderness?! Well. That's one way to know this is a hallucination, and not a ghost. Only in my fucked up, pathetic mind would I imagine that James Moriarty cared a fig for what he put me through. I shake my head, and laugh harshly. "Are you going to follow me all night? Because it might get in the way of me getting laid." The figment has the audacity to look shocked. Hurt, even. I start to laugh softly, and it goes on for a good long time. Until I'm crying ugly, gasping tears. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the figment reach out an arm slowly. No. I will not let you drag me into this pit of darkness again. I will not. I take a deep breath, and punch the shower wall. The pain brings me back to myself - makes the crying stop. I turn back to the silent figment and smile through my tears. "Thanks for the visit - ever so kind of you. I'll be off now, and you can fuck off right to hell."

 

 _Ripped to shreds? What?_  
_You... oh god you missed me that much? Sebastian Moran, cold heartless bastard? I’m... not sure if I’m more shocked or touched._  
_Getting laid. Well. I should have expected that, really. Your libido is legendary. Never asked you to save it for me. You just... did. Well, used to. And so did I. Didn’t shag anyone in Italy either. All looked like me, small and dark. I prefer tall blonds. So it appears you’ve been up to your old habits. Well, can’t blame you, really._  
_Oh god don’t cry Seb. Sebastian Moran doesn’t cry. Not unless I torture him for a prolonged period of time -_  
_Oh._  
_Oh... OH._  
  
_Realization slowly dawns that that is *exactly* what I’ve been doing._  
_Shit. Oh god Seb. I’m such an idiot. I never..._

 _I reach out a hand, but you turn away, punch the wall. Tell me to fuck off. I... Seb..._  
_I put the bottle down, step into the shower, put my arms around you. “Seb... I had no idea. I’m... sorry.” Have I ever spoken those words before? Certainly not to Sebastian. But... that look in your eyes. I made you suffer more than I ever have before. And I was totally fucking oblivious. “I’ll make it up to you. I didn’t think.... never thought you’d actually miss me.” My voice catches in my throat._

 

I stiffen when I feel arms slide around me. Am I totally fucking crazy? You’re not supposed to be able to feel hallucinations touch you…? I’m afraid to move. My breaths come quick and shallow. I hear a stream of words flowing into each other, as I lean back to look into the figment’s face, and time slows. The fuck. Down. All I hear is white noise, as I’m staring into the eyes of- the eyes of- No. NO. I shove arms away from me, stumble back, and flatten myself against the shower wall. (The cold, detached part of my brain thinks, What, are you going to find your way out through the wall?) I turn and press the side of my face against the wet tiles. My heart is slamming in my chest. I’m beginning to hyperventilate. Is he- is he- but that would mean… (yes, genius...) All this time? All this time?? (You realize you’re saying this out loud, right? He’s gonna be SO impressed...)  
I keep whispering it – it’s comforting, somehow. Means I don’t have to think. Don’t have to speak with- (Say it.) My eyes squeeze shut, and my face convulses but the tears don’t come. (Say his name...) “He wouldn’t- He would never- (He WOULD, though… SAY IT.) Jim… JIM. ALL THIS FUCKING TIME???” And I throw back my head and roar like an injured animal - livid and ready to make its last stand.

 

 _... it appears I misjudged you quite a lot more than I ever misjudged anything. Where does that come from? I know how to read people. But I never really dared look deeply into you - you were just there for whatever I needed, your response to my most hare-brained schemes invariably “What do you need, boss?”_  
_Have I been... complacent? Ignorant through... ignoring? Seeing you as an extension of myself, as the best tool in the box, rather than as an individual that I needed to study? Shit; you fit into my life so smoothly and perfectly, and all I did was test your loyalty and capability - I never checked who you actually were, if you were in fact maybe not like me._  
_I always assumed you were so loyal out of self-preservation. I surely never expected you to be personally invested. But it certainly looks like you were. You’re going into a bloody panic, trying to crawl through the wall, repeating ‘all this time’ in a state of shock. Damn. I can really be a massive twat, can’t I?_  
_“I had to disappear. I didn’t think you would be... affected. Certainly not in this way. I assumed you would be happy to take over. You are certainly competent and ambitious. I... had no idea that you cared. Honestly.”_  
_I look helpless, have no idea how to deal with this. I don’t think anyone has ever *missed* me before._

He’s saying words. Jim. JIM. Fucking alive?? It can’t be. It can’t- (‘Oh, it can…’, the detached part of me purrs.) I only half-hear what he’s saying, but I know it’s utter bollocks. If I stop to listen, I will snap his neck. I swear to Christ, I’ll do it. He goes silent after I scream. I press my forehead against the tiles and hold myself up with a hand against the shower door. The only sound is my breathing and the water draining through the pipes. If either of us move or speak, it feels like the whole room will shatter. I will shatter. All this time, Jim?? I can’t do this - whatever THIS is, I can’t – I CAN’T. I feel violent shaking move through my body like tidal waves tearing through the sea, and it feels like it will knock me over, pull me under, and all that was Sebastian Patrick Moran will be lost forever. Weakness in my legs… knees begin to buckle… (And suddenly he appears in my mind - a version of myself in army fatigues, with cold, blue eyes and a killing smile. Shouting in my face, ‘Moran! You are a soldier and a goddamned force of nature and as long as you’re under my command, you will NOT fall apart. Now brace those goddamned legs, open your eyes and deal with this psychopath in a manner befitting an officer. Are we clear?’) It’s all I can do not to snap to attention. (‘I can’t hear you, Moran…’) “Sir, yes, Sir,” I whisper. I brace myself against the wall, and push off. I open my eyes, and look at the man standing silently in the shower with me, his once-immaculate suit damp and dripping. Moriarty still has that expression – confused, tender, helpless (scared? Jim??). A part of me wants to touch that face, gather him in my arms, kiss him for eternity. (‘Get it together, soldier...’) But the rest of me is sharp, cold metal; a gleaming broadsword, poised and ready to swing. “So you’re – alive,” I manage to croak out. "Guess you fooled us all." My hands squeeze so hard into fists, the skin goes white.

 

_Oh my god. You’re hysterical. You’re screaming. I’ve never heard you scream like that before. You’ve properly lost it. Damn._

_You’re leaning against the wall, shaking like a reed, and I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen you *anything* like this. You are Sebastian Moran. Best sniper SAS have seen in the last twenty years, superb assassin, snarky bastard, and horny fucker. Nothing in my mental map of you says ‘liable to mental breakdowns if you disappear for a bit’._

_I don't know what to do. I had expected to surprise you, have you get mad, then have a drink, and some great 'it's been a year since a proper shag' sex. Then hear all your stories of how you've kept my empire going. And then kind of pick back up where we left off. Instead, I walk in on a wet lunatic._  
_You whisper - Sir yes Sir - soldier language. You are looking in my direction, but your eyes look straight through me. You aren't talking to me, then, though you used to call me Sir, in the beginning, and later in bed, with your eyes dark blue and your mind off in a private heavenly hell of your own brought on by my hands. You look at me, and for a moment I am sure you are going to finally come over and kiss me, you have that look, that look that says 'I'm going to touch you and it's going to be very pleasant', but then your eyes freeze over and I wonder if I imagined it._  
_"... yeah. I am alive." It seems such a pointless thing to say. "I... had to pretend I was dead. Had to get Holmes to believe it, and his brother. If I hadn't played dead... They'd have worked it out. Holmes the Elder is frustratingly competent and has an extensive network. I had to disappear."_  
_I see your knuckles go white, see your anger. I look into your eyes, trying to reach the Sebastian I remember instead of this cold gaze that I'd only ever seen aimed at others, never at myself. "I... really had no fucking idea that you'd... miss me. You didn't really seem the sentimental type. I... thought you'd be happy to be rid of me, have a chance to run the empire by yourself without having to put up with my crazy antics. You complained about them often enough." I try a grin, a touch of shared memory, humour - remember how exasperated you were sometimes with me? Seb? Please?_

 

I try to hear what you're saying, but the more I listen, the angrier I get. I’m filling with a white-hot rage that threatens to consume me. I want to lash out. I want to bludgeon. My special skills will destroy everything in my path, you included. I don’t know why I stop myself. I don’t. After everything you've put me through, you sure as fuck have it coming...  
Instead, I take a deep breath, and force myself to smile coldly. “Yes, very logical. Had to trick the Holmes boys. They’re the ones that matter, after all.”  
I ignore the feeling of my heart being squeezed by an ice-cold fist, and step out of the shower, carefully easing around you. If I feel your skin against mine; I don’t know how my body will react. (Kiss or Kill, Moran?) I wrap a towel around my waist, and shove the wet hair out of my eyes.

“I’m going out as planned. Don’t wait up. And by the way, I’ll be gone by morning.” I open the door, and pause. (Keep walking, soldier!) Despite my best efforts not to, I look back. You’re watching me, and your eyes seem to be pleading – I know you want me to toe the line as always, make everything all right again – for you. But I will not make this all right - not after everything you put me through.

“And one more thing - Thank you so much for insinuating that I’m an emotionless fucktoy that wouldn’t miss you if you were DEAD. It’s not like I’ve dreamed of blowing my brains out every day since you’ve been gone. I didn’t freefall into a dark pit of drinking and drugs and violence, just to stop the pain of life without you. And I certainly wasn’t just sitting on the rooftop with your gun, ready to end my misery.” I cut myself off with a curse, and sag against the wall. “DIDN’T KNOW I’D MISS YOU?? I LOVED YOU, YOU HEARTLESS PRICK!!” I breathe heavily, as I lean against the wall. I need to stay strong to get out of this house without completely crumbling. Once again, the cold smile snaps firmly back into place. “So yes, running your empire was everything I needed to keep me healthy, happy and sane, after you put a gun in your mouth and pulled the trigger. I think you’ll find the empire is in fairly good condition, considering your unfortunate demise. Enjoy surveying the realm, your Majesty. Not that you’ll care of course, but you’ll be enjoying it without me...SIR.” Before my resolve weakens, I step out into the bedroom, and pull the door shut behind me with a force that shakes the walls. A nearby vase topples and smashes against the floor, and I stare at the broken glass, wide-eyed and shaking. I hurry to the closet to get dressed. I know I have to leave fast, or your blood will be on my hands before long. And God help me, I still feel the need to protect you - even from myself.

 

 _My mouth hangs open. I can’t seem to close it. I reach for the sink for support, can’t trust my legs to keep me up._  
_That word. The forbidden word, *never* spoken, not in the heat of passion in the best nights, not when either of us was dangerously hurt, not in the elated high after eliminating a crazily outnumbering force. We are not men who use such words. We are cold, calculating psychopaths. Killers, not lovers._  
_And with a devastating, undeniable, crushing certainty that hits me like a bowling ball in the teeth, I realize that not speaking a word does nothing to affect reality. That despite never saying, even thinking the word, you saying you will disappear tears me in two. ‘You don’t know what you have until you lose it’ - well I certainly never knew that was more than a fucking cliché applying to normal people. We, they, called you my right hand - and this certainly feels like a literal body part telling me it’s had enough and is getting out of here. And nothing else matters. Fuck Holmes, fuck the Empire, fuck the entirety of London and the rest of the cursed United Kingdom and its demented sibling Ireland, fuck the whole fucking planet. I couldn’t summon an iota of energy to care about anything I ever thought I cared about. All wiped from my mind map by a few words from you. Words that cut deeper than any weapon ever has. Straight to the core of who I am, the place hidden under so many layers that even I didn’t even realize it existed. Words like ‘matter’. ‘Gone’. ‘Emotionless fucktoy’. ‘Miss’. ‘Blowing my brains out ‘ ‘pain’ ‘misery’.... and the last things you said twisted the knife and pulled out the heart I didn’t know existed._

 _My eyes sting. I don’t care. I need to keep you from leaving. I don’t care if you beat me up, I deserve it, I’m a fucking idiot, a clueless goldfish. Look at me, I’m such a genius, reading the whole Commonwealth like a book and oblivious to what is happening in my own fucking apartment._  
_I run into the bedroom - the spare bedroom, you couldn’t face sleeping in our bed, I get it, Seb, I get it - see you getting dressed. I need to stop you from leaving. It’s the only thing in the world. You are the only thing in the world. The rest is scenery._  
_“Seb,” I croak, my voice not really working, “I had no idea. I am an idiot. I am... only an ignorant psychopath. But I realize... Fuck it. I am less of a cold psycho than I realized. I... "_  
_No don't. Don't say it. Don't. You can't. Not ever. Damn it - Jim!!!_  
 _"I do love you. I... must have for years. I just never dared say it. To you, or myself. It was so much easier to see both of us as emotionless killers. But... yeah. It’s true. When you... when you said you were not coming back - the bottom fell out of my world. I could not bear that. And if that is anything like what I’ve put you through... then it’s the stupidest and cruellest thing I’ve ever done. And I’ve done a lot of stupid and cruel things._  
_I can’t ever make it up to you. But I will spend the rest of my life trying. “_  
_I look up at you, tears in my eyes._

 

I throw the wet towel to the floor, and hear the door open. I stop to listen closely, and I hear your footsteps. Where are you headed? Fuck. FUCK. I hurry to dig through the pile of clothing on my floor to find something. I’m not dressing to impress, my plans to get laid are long forgotten - the only thing on my mind is to get out of the fucking house before there's any bloodshed, before things get said that can't be unsaid. Maybe I should check into a cheap hotel, and just figure out where to go in the morning??  
  
You appear in the doorway, and I yank on a pair of boxer briefs. I pick up jeans and a black t-shirt, not looking at you. I hear your words, and - what's going on with your voice? The things you're saying... I try not to react until I hear the words "I... do love you." My heart is pounding. I'm not looking at you. I can't look at you. I don't trust myself. What are you saying? Stop! It's too late! What are you doing to me?? "I can’t ever make it up to you. But I will spend the rest of my life trying," you say. I feel like I'm in a dream. I finally look at you, and see you're tearing up. Jim?? I hold your gaze for the very first time - feasting on the vision of your face.

My heart swells and then - the realization hits me like a punch to the gut. James Moriarty doesn't cry, and certainly doesn't believe in love. Is this some kind of trick, after everything you put me through? My eyes narrow. I growl, deep in my throat. Like lightning, I slam you against the wall. I stare at you for what feels like an eternity and then I kiss you. My lips are devouring you. One hand forces your arms over your head, gripping your wrists like a vise. The other hand is moving along your body, pressing against your cock. I bite down on your lip and then I tear myself away from your mouth. I look at the tiny trickle of blood on your lips, and back to your wet eyes. "I don't believe you," I whisper. And then I punch you in the stomach. My heart seizes - it feels like I've DIED, but I can't let myself be hurt again. "I don't believe you!" I shout, as you slide to the floor. I seize my pile of clothing, and storm from the room. Only when I'm in the hall do I realize my face is wet with tears.

 

_Here I am, more vulnerable than I've ever been. I guess it makes sense that it is with you. No one else ever *could* hurt me, no matter what they do to my body. But you, you somehow, slyly, got right inside me, melted through my skin, permeated my entire being, made yourself a part of me without me realizing what happened. No wonder I was so stir-crazy in Italy. I told myself I missed London, missed life, missed the empire - but thinking back, every craving I had came back to that impossibly wide grin, those sparkling blue eyes, those tanned muscular arms. Coming home to a Tiger pouncing me like Calvin to Hobbes. That's what I missed. That's what I was hoping to come back to. Instead I walked right into this... mess, and it's torn me deeper than tiger claws ever could._

_For a moment, respite. The sun breaks through. You smack me against the wall, and stare at me, and I see the raging storm in those eyes - passion, fury, conflict, hatred, love. And then you kiss me, and the floor opens and swallows me up. Sight and sound are two of the strongest senses but the real memory is in scent and taste, so closely intertwined. You smell of that horrible appley body wash you like, taste of coffee and fags and sin and death and *Seb*, and I am instantly thrown back to how it was, before this Holmes nonsense, before bloody Tuscany, you and me against the world. You immobilize me, grab my cock, and I lean into it, *yes*, I've found my home back, home is two impossibly blue eyes and strong big hands. You bite my lip and I welcome the pain, I've earnt it, it's fair, punish me Seb, I will suffer to prove my loyalty to you like you've done over and over for me, take me Sebastian, I am yours. I open myself up to you, fully trusting, vulnerable - and your eyes change. Freeze over again. Your words, scathing, icy, cut me inside. And as I stand there, my heart open and bleeding, you punch me in the gut and everything goes black.  
As I bend double, black spots dancing in front of my eyes, trying to get my breath back, I hear you shout and slam the door. I sink down onto the floor, wheezing, eyes streaming. From the pain of the punch , I tell myself._


	2. Like I Didn't Just Come Back from the Fucking Dead for You

I rush down the stairs, still clutching my clothes against my chest. Halfway down, I stop. I look back up the stairs to the door I just slammed shut. I picture you on the floor, gasping for breath. I take a moment to steady myself - gripping the bannister and breathing deeply. Even after everything you put me through, what I've done feels so disloyal, it's cutting me deeply. Not for my physical aggression - Christ know I've never shied away from that, any more than you have. We are dark, violent men, and so often we were dark and violent with each other. But at the heart of what we shared there was tenderness, even from you in rare, unguarded moments - so to not hold you now, when you're alive before me... (God, you're alive... JIM...) ... to leave you wanting... ... to see you open up for the first time, to witness your vulnerability and to just turn and leave? A sob escapes my lips. All I want is to rush back upstairs, kiss away your tears, and wrap around your naked body with my own. But after everything that's happened - how can I go back, when you thought so little of my heart, Jim? My jaw clenches reflexively and I descend down the remaining stairs. I quietly put on my clothes, and the black tactical boots at the door. I open the hall closet for my leather coat, and I arm myself with guns and blades. Then I look back up towards the door of the spare room, still closed. "I'm- glad you're not dead, Jim," I whisper and I open the front door.

 

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and an extra dose of fuck. Oh well done James Moriarty. You stupid selfish bastard. I hide my head in my hands, try to stem the flow of tears, because fuck it, I do. Not. Cry. No one appears to have informed my eyes of this, unfortunately. What on earth have I been thinking? All that fucking time we've been together, living in one apartment, sleeping in one bed, always together, working, eating, sleeping, fucking. It made so much sense - you were my bodyguard, so you had to be with me all the time, right? You were my best employee, so naturally I'd take you on sensitive missions. You were hot as fuck, so of course I'd eventually pull you into my bed, and you were so bloody horny and up for anything, so why would I look elsewhere? You were just always there. Moriarty and Moran. The two most dangerous men in London. They were terrified of us. It was a wild ride, and we were both high on adrenaline half the time, so of *_ _course*_ _we would look at each other elated, grinning like idiots when we were reunited after some absence, eager to see what havoc we could wreak next._

 _But. Blind fools we were. No. No that's not fair. Blind fool I was. I alone. You never *_ _said*_ _you loved me, but you showed it all the time, in your unflagging devotion, your dedication to my happiness and well-being, your lethal rage when anyone so much as looked at me the wrong way. Did I really think that was normal behaviour for an employee? Did I really, deep down, believe that you were just determined to be the best, to be daddy's favourite, so you wouldn't risk me growing bored with you and disposing of you?_

_... yes. I really did. Because I am Jim Moriarty. My capacity for love, as well as the only people to ever love me, died before I was sixteen. I am a psychopath, diagnosed by several skilled psychiatrists. I am incapable of sentiment. I elicit hatred in others. Fear. Anger. Maybe grudging admiration, in some. But not fucking love._

_... oh fuck Sebastian, what have you done?_

 

I lock the apartment door, and one foot in front of the other gets me back to the outside world. My chest is still tight, and I’m finding it hard to breathe normally. I had thought about checking into a hotel, but after everything I just experienced, I can’t stand to be closed in right now. If I’m not going to explode into violence or tears, I could really use a drink. Or several. I start walking in the direction of a cheap hotel with a nearby dive bar to drink in. I shove my hands in the pockets of my leather coat, and size up people I pass. Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in a bar for people who want to forget about the world, and be forgotten. I order a Jameson’s. As I wait for the glass to be filled, I begin ranting silently. (You're ALIVE?? Fucking right as rain... I almost died from grief more times than I can count- but sure, just pop by and tell me you’re alive; and by the way, you love me. Everything must be fucking peachy!) I grip the glass, and throw the whisky back down my throat. The liquid burns on the way down, but afterwards, I feel like the vice squeezing my chest eases up a little. I order another whisky.

“You’re not drinking alone, are you?” a voice says, close to my ear. I turn to see a man leaning on the bar, looking down at me with flirtatious eyes. He's attractive, but - I feel nothing. You’ve been my entire world for years; I can barely remember what life was like before… What men were like before – you eclipse them all.

He introduces himself as Brett - he has dirty blond hair, green eyes and a muscular body. He places his hand on my arm. My head swivels to stare at that hand. No one has touched me in a year, except in violence when I was picking a fight. I ignore the urge to punch Brett in the face. Maybe I should just let myself be touched tonight… That was the original plan, was it not? My way of bidding farewell to you for once and for all? Brett’s hand moves along my chest slowly, and towards my cock. “How about we go outside for a bit?” he asks, meaningfully. “Look at the stars, maybe?” I’m about to tell him to piss off, when I feel a prickle in my scalp – as if I’m being watched. But who would be… Shit. I’m afraid to look. Instead I nod at Brett, toss back my third drink, and stand up. Together we walk towards the back door. 'If you’re following me', I mutter under my breath, 'you’re going to get quite a show'. My heart is slamming in my chest as we near the door.

 

_I get up, find a half-finished bottle of some cheap whiskey somewhere - I'd never touch it normally, but I need something to dull my senses or I will explode. I drink straight from the bottle, wait for the numbing effect, which doesn't seem to come, it just makes my stomach object. My head is reeling. What have you done? What have I done!? A black cold feeling is creeping up from my abdomen. I think I may have made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. In an attempt to fix another of the biggest mistakes of my life. Right. Think Moriarty. No use sitting here weeping over it. I shake my head, angrily, take another swig from the gut rot._

_I get to my mind map. List errors. List potential fixes. Choose best ones. Choose plans B._

_Error #1: Lack of clear judgement in assessing Moran. (HURT. Hurts so bad. Stop it. No emotions. Emotions cloud your mind. Another swig.) Solution: Get Moran back. How to implement solution? Too many variables. Need to study subject further._

_Error #2: Let oneself be subjected to emotions. This should not have happened. This can never happen again. Solution: Get mentally stronger? Remove source of emotions?_

_Error #3: Shown weakness to another. Consequence from error #2. Solution: Silence witness. Bribery, or a more permanent solution._

_... the bottle is empty. My mind map is clearer. The only solution to errors #2 and #3, and in a way the solution to #1: Moran needs to go. (PAIN... - shut up. No emotions, remember?) If Moran is gone, the emotions will stop. All emotions stopped when Mam went. I will be myself again. I should have never let him come this close. Lesson for the future._

_I look at the empty bottle, throw it against the wall, watching it shatter. Now is the time to do it. Before he goes and tells everyone what a failure I am. I stand up, notice I am a bit unsteady. I make myself a coffee, strong and black. It makes my stomach protest even more but it can shut the hell up, I have more important things on my mind right now._

_Your laptop password is ridiculously simple. I log into the network, find you in a dive bar in one of the sleazier parts of town, but nearby. Some illiterate brute is chatting you up and you. Let him. Let him buy you a drink. Touch you. Like I didn't just come back from the fucking dead for you._

_I pull up the loose floor boards, find the guns hidden there, take the Beretta, with its silencer. It's loaded, good. Put it in my waist band, hidden by my jacket. Walk to the bar. Just in time to see you and the meathead leave through the side door. My eyes. They are getting blurry. I shake my head, again. Some people look at me when I bump into them, but shrink away from the expression in my eyes as I make my way through the crowded bar after you. I open the door, look around. I hear noises from behind a skip. I look over it and. You. Sebastian. Leaning against the wall, your hand in another man’s blond hair. His mouth, his bovine filthy mouth. On you. Around you. I lift the gun. You’re not the only crack shot around here Moran. A loud bang. A head explodes. Not yours. Your cock also seems undamaged, not that I’ll ever get to enjoy it again. I point the Beretta at your face. I’m not surprised at the lack of shock there._

 

I know the moment you're in the alley. Doesn't matter that I don't see you - you're there. Lurking.

Brett's doing a fine job, but all of my senses are focused on you. I know you're watching. I know you're approaching. It doesn't take a genius to figure out things are going to go south FAST. And I just relax and let it all unfold around me, like a bloody fucking opera in the alley.  
The CRACK of the gun...

The angry ZIP of the bullet...

The wet SPLAT of a head exploding like an overripe melon... (sorry, mate.)

And everything suddenly gets Very. Fucking. Clear.

I am splattered with blood and bone and brains.

My cock is in one piece, and amazingly, still hard.

My heart is pounding. And I feel alive - more gloriously alive than I have in years.

I see your face. Your eyes- black with anger and venom.

Also unfocused - from drinking?

Interesting. Very interesting.

I laugh softly, lean my head against the wall.  
"Nice shot. But couldn't you have waited for, like- 5 seconds?" I ask, lazily. "He may have been an idiot, but he had his uses."

Your eyes are like bottomless pools of ink. A gleam appears, like a beast rising from the abyss. Most people would be wetting themselves right now, but it only brings out my killing smile.

"If I could make a final request... I'd rather not die with my pants down." Slowly I reach down and pull up my jeans. As I pull up the zipper and fasten the button, I keep my eyes locked on yours- like facing down a rattlesnake. A drunk, chemically unbalanced rattlesnake.

"So it comes down to this, does it?" I ask. "You come back after ALL THIS TIME, only to kill me." I shake my head and laugh- admittedly sounding somewhat demented. "That's sweet, really. Well, I always planned to die on this day- could be you're doing me a favour. And maybe you could kill me before I-" I whip out your Beretta 92FS with professional precision. "Shoot you with your own gun? Or maybe..." I spread out my arms, holding the gun loosely. "...not. It's anyone's game..." I cock my head and grin at you. "You take the next move, darling. I want you to have it," I purr, and stare into the endless depths of your eyes.

 

_Great. The two most dangerous men in London, stuck in a Mexican standoff in a dingy alley. So, technically I'm supposed to be the most dangerous one, with you second - but physically you could overwhelm me in seconds. That was always part of the thrill for me - having this man who was bigger, stronger, faster than I am completely at my mercy. How did I do that again? I'll be damned if I remember, and I really need to remember it; right now, please. My brain stays stubbornly silent._

_You aren't aiming; I could get the first shot in. You are fast, but you just don't care. You *_ _want*_ _me to shoot. Or are at least daring me to. So go on then, Moriarty. Shoot. That's what you came here to do, wasn't it? Remove Moran out of your life. The complicating factor. Start with a clean slate. I look along the barrel at you. Are my hands shaking? Fuck's sake. Just shoot. Shoot and your troubles will be over. Shoot and no one will ever have seen your tears. Shoot the fucking gun, damn it. I point the gun at your heart. There. Slightly left of the breastbone. The breastbone which bears the scars from our first night together. That's when I knew I had you. When I knew you were mine. Mine…  
I can’t._

_I can’t shoot you. Fuck this, Moran. You moron. For whatever unfathomable reason, I appear to be… addicted to you. So I can’t solve error #3 by deleting you._

_So. Plan B. Silence witness. Remind subject that he is, in fact, not his own man. He is James Moriarty’s man._

_And that is the very best thing he could ever be._

_I look up, into your eyes. And... fuck me. You look high. Oh. You bloody adrenaline junkie._

_Oh, Moran. I smile at you, broadly._

_"You're *_ _loving*_ _this, aren't you? Feeling alive again, after all this time? Look at you. Your eyes are shining, you have a grin from arse to armpit, your pulse is racing." I lower the gun, walk towards you, keep looking you in the eyes. "Sebastian," step. "Patrick," another step. "Moran," another step, and I'm right in front of you. Your gun still loosely pointed at me, mine aiming somewhere around your foot or something. Neither of us is going to shoot. I put my face close to yours, look deeply into your eyes, try to get into your soul._

 _“Remember who you are, Sebastian? You do, don’t you? Remember who *_ _I_ _* am? I am the entire *_ _reason*_ _for your existence. You were *_ _so*_ _bored before you met me. Couldn’t stay in the army, couldn’t hack civilian life. You were bound to drink yourself to death, or get into a fight with a few guys too many. Then I came and gave you purpose. I gave you *_ _life*_ _. You were *_ _nothing*_ _before me. You were nothing *_ _after*_ _me. Just a shell of a man. But look at you now – you are yourself again. You hate me, of course you do – I miscalculated. Even geniuses make mistakes. But love or hate, or both – you *_ _need*_ _me, Sebastian Moran. You need me to breathe. You need me to have the blood pumping through your veins. Because without me, the world is un*_ _bear*_ _ably dull. That’s why you were going to kill yourself. Because I am the only thing that makes your life worth living. And I am back. So start living again.”_

 

I was the one in control - I know I was. One moment you have those bottomless black eyes and a gun fixed on me, and the next – your hand is shaking. You - James Moriarty - are hesitating. Making yourself vulnerable in a very dangerous moment, with a very dangerous man. James Moriarty doesn’t make himself vulnerable to anyone or anything – and now I’ve seen it, twice in one night.

I see you change your mind about killing me. And the turmoil that causes in you...

And then- I see you smile, and the world tilts on its axis… Suddenly you’re walking towards me, without a care in the world. Saying my name like you OWN it...Own ME. It’s all I can do to stop myself from flinching with each step you take.

You start talking - summarizing my entire existence in a razor-sharp monologue that should have won you an Oscar. (You always did love giving speeches...)

“I came and gave you a purpose. I gave you life.”

My traitorous body is heating up. I’m slowly lowering my arms as you speak.

(Get that gun up, soldier!)

“You need me, Sebastian Moran. You need me to breathe.”

My breathing is quick and shallow, and I feel tremors moving through my chest, my limbs, my pelvis.

(NO. Not THIS. Take back control, Moran!)

“…I am the only thing that makes your life worth living. And I am back. So start living again.”

Silence. In the distance, I hear the sound of cars driving, and then breaking glass and drunken laughter.

We watch each other, not speaking. You, dripping with confidence. Me, now gripping your gun like a protective barrier between us. I imagine myself shoving it in my mouth and shooting, just to find a way out of this situation - you didn’t account for that variable, you prick. I laugh helplessly at the notion, and you observe me closely.

“I know what you’re doing…” I snap, not looking at you. ”You’re trying to trigger our old power dynamics. You want me to be your underling again… Following your lead, toeing the fucking line! Well, I won’t do it! Not after what you put me through…”

I pocket the gun and make as if to walk away. Then with the speed of an apex predator, I have you in my grasp up against the wall. Your face scraping against the rough brick. Your arm behind your back. I hear you breathe in sharply as I twist. “Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.” I whisper into your ear. And then I realize I’m grinding my pelvis into yours.  
Now what? Now what?? I think frantically. If I don’t do something decisive, you’ll annihilate me.. Do I kick the shit out of you? Fuck you against the wall? Run away?? Why can’t I decide what to do?? Life was easier with you calling the shots, I realize with a sinking feeling. But I hiss into your ear, “I will not be your chew toy again.” And then the next thought that rises up, unwelcome though it may be, is, Tired of running, Jim… and with that, I turn you around and shove you against the wall. I knock your hand against the brick and you drop your gun. I grab your throat. I stare unflinching into your eyes. And just for now, because I’m so tired of fighting it (and because- you’re alive, Jim…) I growl, “If you know me so goddamned well, genius… Why don’t you show me what I fucking need.”

 

_It's working. The gun is going down. Your eyes are glazing over, your cheeks getting just that tiny bit flushed. I'm reaching you. Your breathing speeds up, your body starts to tremble. Yes. I have you back._

_Mine._

_\- no. Wait. A disturbance. Your gun twitches. You... are going to shoot me? No - not me. You are thinking of shooting yourself. Oh but that would be poetic. You putting an actual bullet through your head, because I didn't. Oh that would make a beautiful story._

_But I'm not going to let that happen. I stiffen, ready to grab your gun, come of it what may, when you start to laugh, and the threat of the gun eases._

_Ah. You’ve worked out my tactics. Well. I guess that’s inevitable when you work together so closely for years. You… won’t do as I say? Well what am I supposed to do now? I can’t *_ _force*_ _you to do anything. I never needed to. Never needed weapons or threats. Just the power of my will. … and yours, apparently. My will can’t break you if you don’t want it._

 _But… you *_ _do*_ _want it, Seb; I see it in your eyes, you are desperate, desperate to submit, to have me rule your life again. Why are you denying it?_

 _Oh stop playing coy Moriarty. You know why. Fear. You hurt him worse than he’s ever been hurt before and he wants to remove you out of his life because he’s terrified of being hurt like that again. It’s *_ _exactly*_ _the same as what you yourself were feeling earlier. Why you came here to shoot him._

_Damn it. You really fucked up now, Jimmy. He’s walking away. Out of your life. And you can’t do a damn thing about it. How does it feel, being powerless? (Horrible). You can’t stand it, can you?_

_My wretched navel-gazing is interrupted by a Tiger pouncing his prey. You have me against the wall in no time, hurting my face, twisting my arm. Oh god, yes, physical pain, please, anything to distract from the mental anguish. And you’re… grinding against me. Fuck me, you’re enjoying this. Well. Part of you is. Definitely._

_I feel your hesitance. You don’t know what to do. You want to fuck me, beat me up, kiss me, kill me, walk away from me forever. I recognize this feeling in you. And I know what you need when you feel like this. You need me. To tell you what to do. What to feel. You always need me. Your words are brave, but your voice trembles. Practically begging me to take control, to overcome this unnatural situation of you having to pull the strings. It’s not who you are, Sebastian._

_You twist me around, smash the gun out of my hand – good move, I’m an unpredictable fucker – grab my throat, and finally, finally give me a way in. It’s tiny, rough-edged, perilous, but it’s the only chance I have. And if I fuck it up, I could lose you forever. I panic. I honest to God panic. I’ve never felt so on edge before – life or death situations I can handle, it comes with the job, but this – this is *_ _important*_ _. And I don’t know what to do or say to make you *_ _you*_ _again. But I have to say *_ _something*_ _, or you’ll walk away, and that would be the worst thing that could happen._

_I take a deep breath. Try to get my eyes to communicate. No masks. No guises. The face that only you got to see, and only rarely. You know it. I can see the recognition in your eyes._

_“What you fucking need, Sebastian, is me. That is all. You were a dead man without me. And I… know I fucking killed you. I didn’t mean to, but I did it nonetheless, and it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m here now. It’s the miracle you’ve been dreaming of for a year. Don’t throw it away out of fear. You are not a fearful man, Sebastian._

_I don’t believe in gods, but I swear on my mother’s grave that I will not hurt you like this again. Next time I go anywhere, you are coming along. I promise. Because… I need you too, Sebastian. I didn’t realize until… well, until I saw you again, and found that what had been tormenting me this past year was not the tedium of Tuscany, but the unbearable bore of not being with you._

_Trust me, Sebastian. I know I’m not worth it. But you have no choice. Because without me, there’s no you. There never will be, no matter what you tell yourself. Don’t deceive yourself, Sebastian. Don’t throw away your second chance at life._

_Oh, and for what it’s worth – if you walk away, you’re not just killing yourself. I’m worth fuck all without my Tiger. I’ll probably try to take on Mycroft Holmes and end up dead if I’m lucky, locked up at Her Majesty’s pleasure for life if I’m not._

_I don’t beg. I never begged for anything in my life. I’ll kill you if you ever tell anyone. But Sebastian… please. Come home.”_

 

I see it in your eyes - you're assessing, calculating the right move... Good - you know what to do now. So give me what I need. I don't WANT to need it- but fuck me, I need you to take over. This is too much. I can practically feel myself weakening, straining to submit...

What the fuck is that- what is that look in your eyes, Jim? What are you playing at?

I'm horrified when I realize - You're NOT playing. I've only seen flashes of it before - your true face behind the mask.

Wait - that's not what I wanted. It's easier to just be swept away by your ferocious willpower, your unrelenting dominance. Can't you give me that?

“What you fucking need, Sebastian, is me."

My body relaxes at your words. I lock eyes with you, wait for your lead. I know where this is heading - the end game I struggled so hard against. But I know even if you triumph over my body and my mind, my heart will remain my own. Protected by thick stone walls, like the battlements of a walled city. Protected against cruel conquerors who would breach the walls, and destroy everything in their path - But suddenly I realize things are not going in the direction I thought - You're NOT giving me what I need. Panic sweeps through me as you speak, and I struggle to follow.  
"...I swear on my mother’s grave that I will not hurt you like this again."

I freeze at your words. I may not know much about your childhood, but - I know this is monumental for you. A promise that will not be broken. My hand curls against your wrist, applies gentle pressure where it's still pinioned against the wall. The other one has loosened its grip on your throat. When did that happen? I didn't mean to do that. Treacherous hands... don't they know you can't be trusted??

"...without me, there’s no you."  
I manage to choke back a sob, but just barely. Please, Jim... I have no defences for what you're doing. You're stripping me of armour - systematically, without mercy. Laying me bare before you. My weapons are clattering to the ground, falling down around my feet...  
"I’m worth fuck all without my Tiger."

Where is that tiger now? The predatory beast who had Jim Moriarty by the throat? Who disarmed you, left you broken and weeping on the floor? Who batted aside your attempt to kill me, like a cat playing lazily with its prey? It's all I can do now to hold your gaze, all I can do to keep from whimpering... Jim, please... don't do this...

The tremors are ripping through my body now... threatening to crumble every wall I've erected against you, every bit of resolve I have to stay strong - to protect my heart from the psychopath I was foolish and fucked up enough to fall in love with.

I feel myself standing on a precipice, trying desperately to keep my balance, and not tumble down to my death. Because it will be death if you hurt me, Jim. Mine... and yours... You're not the only twisted psychopath in this alley - I finally see that. Finally see the forces that drew us together, like powerful magnets slamming together - forcibly and fiercely. I crave your ferocity. Be the predator with me, Jim... I can find stable ground under your domination, and it's what I long for.

But it's not to be. He's drawing to a close, and he's saving his best weapon for last. But - psychopaths don't beg... No, Jim. Where you lead, I'll follow - but oh God, don't ask me to go there...

"Sebastian… please. Come home.”

I'm falling as if from a great height. Wind is rushing around me, whipping through my hair. I relax into it. It feels like the fall will never end. But soon I can feel the ground rushing up to meet me, and I know it's all going to come to a crashing finale. I feel myself smiling. I'm about to break into a million tiny pieces. I welcome it. At last - an end to this infernal pain that is the life and love of Sebastian Patrick Moran. It's what I've been waiting for. Courting. Hunting - the final chapter of my life.  
Only it's not the ground that I land against - it's you. I'm on you before I've realized what's happened. Lips to your lips... I'm falling into you like salvation. You've broken my fall.  
All thoughts have been driven from my head. There is only THIS. Dizzying sensation - the sheer force of it-

My heart pounding under your hand. My breaths coming hard and fast.

My blood racing through my veins as my body leans into yours - pressing you hard against the wall.  
The hands I accused of treachery are now grasping your face, as if afraid to let go.

How did this happen? I break away from the kiss in shock, hands still on your face.

I want to devour you. Be devoured by you.

But when I look into your eyes, I can't. Fucking. Move.

 

_I speak, you listen, I stare into your eyes, and… fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I miscalculated. I took a risk, and I made the wrong choice. I thought…_

_I am an idiot. I thought I could… be vulnerable. I thought you maybe could be accepting of that. Finally. After all those years, to see that side of me. I thought… we could be… like normal people._

_But it’s not what you need. You need strong, dominant Moriarty. That is the man you fell in love with. That is the man who ruled your world. I should have continued that, and I’d have *_ _had*_ _you, I can see it in your eyes, that longing for something you’re not getting._

_Instead, you look… panicked. Your hands loosen their grip on my wrist, my neck. Any moment you are going to walk away. Out of my life._

_I can’t change track. My mouth keeps talking, everything I never said, never even thought out loud; I’m shocked myself at what I’m saying, shut *_ _up*_ _Moriarty, you’re digging your own grave, you are stripping yourself bare, every defence you’ve ever built you’re tearing down, what are you doing?! You self-destructive bastard._

_Wait. He’s… that look. He’s not angry. He’s… desperate. He’s afraid. God, he’s trembling. What… Oh please. Oh please. Sebastian. Please. Oh god. I’m saying it out loud. I am actually begging._

_That’s it. I’m done for. Sebastian. Look what you’ve done. You’ve broken a perfectly good psychopath. I stop talking, look at you. This is it, Sebastian. You can now kiss me or kill me. There’s no middle ground. I hold my breath, for what feels like forever. You smile, staring right through me. What does that mean? What is that smile? Is that an_ * _I love you so much*_ _smile or a *_ _you’re an idiot and I’m going to punch you in the gut again*_ _smile?_

 _Then I have my arms full of Tiger and I gasp in the breath I’ve been holding. Your lips on mine, your tongue seeking access, claiming me, your body pressing me against the wall like you’re afraid *_ _I*_ _am going to make a run for it, your heart racing, your breaths fast, your hands grasping my face, oh god yes, Sebastian, yes – and then you’re gone, my mouth aching with the emptiness. Panic races through my system – you’re going to punch me again, you’re going to leave me again – but then I see your eyes and oh. God. Such naked – hunger. Need. Oh god. This is – better than it ever was. This is not just arousal and devotion. This is *_ _you*_ _. I realize that like me, you always kept a mask up. Not playing a part, that’s not like you, but never ever showing me the whole you. Your mind and body were mine – but now I have your heart and soul too. And all it took was for me to give you mine._

_I grab your head, pull it towards me, kiss you with so much force that my tooth pierces my lip, I don’t care, I need you, I need you so much, I’m never ever letting you go. You respond in kind, grabbing me so tight it hurts, but it’s good, I need to merge with you, never ever not feel you. Sebastian._

_The back of my mind is aware of a sound that’s not right. Sirens. Shit. Someone heard the shot. With superhuman effort, I pull myself away from you, grin. “Home?”_

 


	3. My Stupid, Traitorous Mouth

I’m staring at you, not moving a muscle. Silently pleading for you to take the next step. To take over. You know what I want- you always know. You kiss me with a ferocity that nearly has me fall to my knees. I’m shaking – I can barely hold myself up. Sirens begin to wail, and I tense up. We have to move.

You pull yourself from my lips, grin at me puckishly. “Home?” you ask.

How can I tell you I’m not sure if this will be home for me again? I don’t know if this sweet version of you will last- I only know that in this moment, I don’t have the strength to resist you any longer. I nod, and your smile brightens. Then I make a quick motion for you to follow me, and I storm through the alley. The sirens are growing louder. I flatten myself against the wall, and peek around the corner. Brightly coloured lights are flashing in the distance.

The time is now. I stride forward and move quickly along the sidewalk. I look back to see you following me and looking strangely amused.

It doesn’t take us long to reach the apartment. Nor does it take us long to reach for each other, press our lips together. Tentatively at first. We’re fumbling with keys, and I’m kissing you; I feel your tongue slide into my mouth, and I moan. Just as the door swings open, I’m pressing into you hard, and we fall through, crashing to the ground. I reach out and slam the door, as I’m leaning over you.

The door slamming shut seems to be my breaking point. I rip through your shirt. Buttons go clattering across the floor. I’m completely driven- I haul you up so I can remove all barriers. I need to feel your skin against mine- I need it. This is how I’ll know you’re really alive- JIM- Next to go are my jeans and T-shirt. Your trousers, pants and socks go flying. We’re naked on the floor, kissing frantically, and suddenly I pull back.

We stare at each other. This is new. There are no rules anymore…God help me, I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to throw you down and devour you whole. Fuck you senseless, take everything I’ve gone through this last year, and take it out on you. And I WILL. Before the night is over- that’s a promise. But in this moment, I am straining not to admit to the longing in my heart- the longing that is making me so hard right now, that the thought of you touching my cock makes me want to weep. I want to be taken by you. Fucked by you. Consumed by you. I want to be home again.

Your eyes are on me. I hesitate, and then I hear the words out loud before I realize they’ve escaped my lips. “Make me yours... Make me yours again- Sir.” Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck… I squeeze my eyes shut and await your response like a good soldier boy.

 

_Oh Sebastian it's *so good* to have you back. To feel your lust, your passion, your hunger - it is like it was in the beginning, not even having time to get in the door before we're all over each other, but there's something else there, too. It used to be all adrenaline and fire, but now I'm - scared. I'm honest to God scared of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, and feeling you slip through my fingers. Tonight is going to be extremely precarious and I'll have to use all my extensive skill set to read you right._

_OK, well that's a very clear signal. Oh wow. And Sir. OK. I can be Sir. But... Sir is going to be a bit different than before. Because Sir now actually gives a damn about what *you* feel. Fuck you, Moran. You're going to suffer for this. Exquisitely. I look into your eyes, intensely, reflecting the longing I see there, not putting on a persona. This is me. All me. You've seen the vulnerability. Now meet the darkness._

_"Sebastian. You have never not been mine. You've just forgotten. But don't worry. I'll remind you. And I'll never let you forget again."_

_I look deep into your eyes, see the need there, lean over, kiss you, gently. Digging my nails into the skin of your chest. Tearing down, slowly, breaking the skin in places, holding you close with my other hand. I need to feel what I do to you. Every little bit of it._

 

What have I done... 365 days of torment and pain to get me to that place of strength- where I could tell you to go fuck yourself. Where I could tell you I loved you, call you a heartless prick, tell you just what I think of What. You. Did. And to leave you crying on the floor, after you said you loved me?? Jesus!! It tore me to pieces, but I did it. Only to face you down in an alley with a gun, when you were ready to cut me down for seeing your moment of weakness. I disarmed James Moriarty, I turned the tables on you, sweetheart- until in the end you were pleading with me to come home! And now... I give it all away for the thrill of your domination over my body and my mind?... Are my heart and soul on the table, too?? On a fucking silver platter- and I'm the git who presented it to you. Called you Sir. Told you to make me YOURS. Sebastian Moran, you fucking masochist...

I feel you leaning over me, and I open my eyes, afraid of what I'll see. And what I see is - you. All of you. And it makes my breath hitch in my throat. Shit. SHIT. You're going to make me pay for luring you out from behind the mask, aren't you...

"Sebastian. You have never not been mine." My body heats up and my cock twitches as you claim me. It's done- your chains slide around me like a serpent, though you haven't lifted a finger.

"I'll remind you. And I'll never let you forget again." The chain squeezes gently, the serpent's forked tongue flicks at me. Your words are a promise and a threat, and they unleash such longing, I almost moan out loud. Not yet, my sweet. You'll drag it out of me all too soon, but I'm going to make you wait for it. And then pay dearly before this night is done. Your eyes, locked on me. Drinking me in. Your lips on my lips. Your kiss, so gentle- I'm not used to this side of you. I relax slightly, feel a glow building in my heart, and then- your nails are dragging down my chest. It drives all thoughts from my head, except, Jim, and Please, and All of Me... Take it All.

 

_All my senses are focused on you. I need to get this right. This reminds me of our first time. The night I had to conquer your iron control, make you realize that you were not, in fact, a man in charge of his own destiny - you'd tried that and sucked at it. But you were *so convinced* that you were, and I had to play it so carefully to avoid scaring you into seizing back control, to convince you of the fact that I knew your desires better than you did. It was like coaxing a small bird out to eat from your hand. Or a small Tiger..._

_This is like that night, except so much more is at stake. Back then I could have killed you and not lost more than a very good man. Now... I don't know what I'd lose if you leave, but I don't want to find out._

_I can see your inner turmoil, it's written on your face. Too much time without me, thinking you'd have to do it alone, has made you reach back in desperation for that self-mastery. And now your real master is back and you don't want to relinquish control because you can't trust him. But you so intensely want to. Oh, you poor thing, you're being torn in two._

_"_ _I've got you," I whisper, "It's alright Sebbie, I got you."_

 

Your eyes don’t leave mine. I feel like a specimen pinioned to a board. I see your mind at work- are you thinking of what cruelty you can inflict upon my flesh? I can’t help but think of the first time- when you first made me yours. You left your mark in more ways than the scars scored into my skin. What will you do to me now, Jim? “I’ve got you,” you tell me, your voice so gentle. “It’s all right, Sebbie, I got you.” My mind blanks completely. I blink in confusion. But I feel the glow returning to my heart.

Before I know it, my hand has moved to your face. I look into your eyes with longing. Then I dimly remember the rules, and slowly I remove my hand.

 

" _You can touch," I whisper, moved to see that you remember, remember how to be with me, and do so instinctively. Your eyes make my heart melt._

 

My hand slowly reaches for you, slides against your cheek. I wonder where you came from, this stranger with your face, now alternating between domination and tenderness... Where were you hiding all these years? Continuing to stroke your cheek, I let out a long, shaky breath, and give you a half smile.

 

_You're so tense. My heart feels like it's tightening, like it's getting too small for all the feelings it's suddenly supposed to contain. "It's fine Sebastian. You can relax. I love you, I really do." I stroke your cheek, your hair. "I am going to hurt your body. You need me to. You need to feel that I'm in charge of you, that I own you. You realize that, don't you?”_

 

You’re watching me with... concern. It’s not an expression I’m used to seeing on your face.

Your next words... I have no words. No words for what is happening... Your hand is stroking my face. You love me... I’m starting to let myself believe. I look at you.

“Show me... I belong to you. Please.”

 

_I keep stroking. Your walls are crumbling. And not just the new walls. I keep seeing glimpses of you that I'd never seen before. And I know that I'm being completely vulnerable to you, because it's give and take, I can't have what I want from you if I don't give you the same from me, it makes sense, it's a natural balance of sorts. It's the scariest thing I've ever done, but I *have* to, if I'm to keep you, and God, you so deserve it._

_"Bedroom," I whisper._

 

There’s so much going on in your mind- but it doesn’t inspire dread in me now. My fear is loosening its grip on me; its claws have slid out from my flesh. It feels like you’re seeing me for the first time. You open your mouth and whisper, “Bedroom”.

My breath catches in my throat. Am I ready for this? I look at you searchingly, and it’s like an electric current has passed through us. Oh... I’m in for it, aren’t I? A flash of images streams through my mind of you securing me, sucking me, fucking me... the pleasures you will coax from my body... and before I know it, I’m standing. Walking to the bedroom door and stepping in.

 

_I see you stare at me and for a moment I think you're going to defy me, deny me, walk away from me, and the fear that seizes me is debilitating. Then your eyes get that gleam and you stand up, walk to the bedroom. Thank fuck._

_I shake my head. I really can't continue to panic all the time. But I can't, can NOT lose you now, I don't know what I'll do. This was NOT how tonight was planned._

_Fuck's sake, Moriarty. Keep it together, will you? You have him where you want him. Just keep chiselling away at those defences. He *wants* to be yours, he *is* yours, just remind him, remind yourself. It will take time to get the trust back between you - but it will be greater than it was. If you can bring yourself to trust him with your... heart... which you will *have* to now, it's either that or kill him, and *that* would break you as well, and he will trust you with his, then... you'll be the most magnificent couple ever to rule the world._

_So. No pressure there, then._

_Right. Show time._

_I get up, walk into the bedroom, see you sitting on the bed, looking up at me, apprehensively, like a school boy waiting for his first crush, and you look so fucking vulnerable and *sweet*, that I just *shatter*, run over and *pounce* you, throwing you on your back onto the bed, kissing you like I'm a drowning man and you're the sole source of air._

 

You enter the room and I stare up at you. Seeing you after being apart from you for only a moment takes my breath away. Your expression has changed- less commanding, more vulnerable. Jim? Suddenly you’re rushing to me, throwing me back on the bed. Your lips are devouring me. I fist a hand in your hair, drawing your head even closer.

My other hand is gripping your back. I moan into your mouth and before I know it, my nails have raked your back. I break away from the kiss. Fuck. Touching you while you’re DominantJim is one thing, but marking you? I look into your eyes, and steel myself for your reaction.

 

_Fuck, I've missed you, I've missed you so much, I had no idea, oh god, Seb... I get this unbearable urge to just fall to pieces, cry in your arms, but I *can't*; you moan and it's all I can do to keep it together; and then I feel your nails down my back and it feels *good* to feel your passion, but you break away from the kiss and look at me with shock in your eyes. And I realize that I'm in charge and you need me to be strong, you NEED ME and FUCK, James Moriarty, you are NOT going to let him down again. You will NOT be weak. You have never been weak and there is NO reason to start now. You need your Tiger back. And to do that, you need to tame him._

_I stare into your eyes, see them go dark with the familiar mixture of apprehension, submission, desire; as I take both your wrists in my hands, press them down next to your head, leaning on them. I bend close to your ear, whisper, "I'm not going to tie you, Tiger. And in a moment, I'm going to release your wrists. And you are going to keep your hands to yourself. Only touching when I tell you. No matter what I do. Get your claws out again..." I lift my left hand, grab the tips of your fingers, "and I'll pull out each offending nail. Got that?"_

 

You stare back at me. I wait, tension and desire warring in my body. There’s some kind of conflict going on in you, as well. You press my wrists down, whisper my instructions. I respond, "Yes, Sir." I can do that. Only, as I stare into your eyes, I see - before they were passionate, burning with desire; now they are brimming with overwhelming stress.

For the first time since you returned (from the dead! This evening!!), I step outside of my own head to consider your emotional state- after being yelled at and rejected by the one you thought you could always count on no matter what; punched in the stomach; abandoned after telling me you love me; seeing me get down and dirty with another man; being practically dared to shoot me, then quickly disarmed; all while having to deal with feeling emotions for another human for the first time since childhood – a human who you fear will reject you and leave you again; dealing with guilt over the realization of what you put me through (arsehole), and as a cherry on top, being asked to dominate a very fragile assassin (who's assaulted you, and pointed your suicide gun at you), but making sure he doesn’t shatter beyond repair. All in a few short hours.

You seem like you’re holding on by a thread. Maybe the game is too much. Maybe what you need- what WE need- is to just let our bodies and hearts take over, and just pour everything into each other- all our emotions, all our love and strength. Just take a wild ride through tenderness, anger, domination, playfulness, affection and primal fucking aggression. I want to make every stop with you, Jim, and go back for more. Is this what you want??

The only thing is, how do I interrupt your domination of me to… make a suggestion?? Without getting the ever-living shit kicked out of me, and sending me hurtling back to wanting to snap your neck? Should I just let this play out? I gaze into your eyes again, and see how you’re still locked in a battle in your own mind.

For the second time this night, I hear myself speaking before I even realize I’d opened my stupid, traitorous mouth. “Permission to speak, Sir…” I say. And once again, I shut my eyes tight.

 

_Your eyes... there's a war inside them. I can usually read you like a book, but the pages are flicking by too fast for me to grasp what is going on. You start with the normal submission, but then - doubt, reflection, pain, guilt, anger, confusion, worry, love, flick by in fractions of a second and I wait for you to decide on one because I need to know what you feel so I can decide what to do. I need to get this absolutely right._

_Permission to speak? Oh, thank god, you're helping. Thank you, Sebbie._

_"... Granted," I say in a low voice._

 

Oh, fucking brilliant, Seb… you just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Now what, genius? You say, “Granted” in a voice that makes my body feel like it's about to burst into flames. I open my eyes. You seem – relieved. Curious? Once again, I feel myself balancing at a great height. Any wrong move could end in disaster.

I take a deep breath. “Permission to- kiss you. Long and hard and slow. SIR.”

 

_"That's what you were doing... and then you stopped. Because you forgot yourself." I shake my head. "And... there's something going on inside you. You're practically trembling with conflicting emotions. And I... I'm trying to stay on top of them, but it's confusing me as well. I'm..." dontsayitdontsayitdontsayit "fucking terrified." SHUT UP!!! Fuck. Way to go, Moriarty. He asks you to master him, and you go and be WEAK at him. You can't even do THAT right; it normally comes as natural as breathing. You're really, really fucked up. And you have really, really fucked up. I sigh, look at you for a response._

 

I listen to you speak, my heart racing. Shit. How do I make this right, Jim? I always look to YOU for direction. Look what happens when I try to take matters into my own hands! I end up making a big fucking mess. I'm sorry, Jim. What can I do to fix this. Think, Seb… THINK, SOLDIER! Strategies go flying through my mind, daring me to pick the right one or watch everything be destroyed. And I shove them aside, and do the unthinkable. I open my mouth and just fucking talk. It's like throwing myself off a cliff, and I'm filled with blind, searing hope that somehow I will survive the fall, no matter how unlikely that is. Enjoy your final fucking monologue, Seb.

“I’m fucking terrified, too.” I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, then look back at you. “It was- bad when you were gone. Beyond bad. And now- you’re back. And I never said- I never told you- what that means to me. It means- everything. Fucking everything, Jim. And I don’t know how to do this. And I thought I needed you to take control. And yeah, I’ll admit it- I fucking love what you do to me. And I missed it, OK? But maybe… that can just fucking wait? You can take it out on my hide later, for interrupting what I asked for. I’m sorry, all right? It’s just been a really fucked up day...”

I laugh helplessly, and cover my eyes with my hands. “But right now- I just want- I WANT YOU. All of you. Not just DominantJim, or CriminalMastermindJim… I fucking love you and I want it all. Can we just- figure out- how to be- together?” Every word feels like it's being dragged from me, scoring my insides before it careens out of my mouth. “Is that- something you even want, Jim? If it’s not, you might as well kill me now. I’ll get your gun myself. Because there’s nothing else in this stupid, fucked up world that I want. Just you.” I move my hands from my wet eyes, and stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.

Fucking brilliant, Seb- there’s no coming back from this.

 

_You... don't respond, at first. You just stare at me. And the bottom falls out of my world. I fucked up. You're disappointed. I am not who you expected me to be. Who you needed me to be. I failed you, again._

_And then. You speak._

_Terrified? YOU!? You don't know the meaning of the word fear. I've never, ever seen you afraid. Your psychiatrist thought it was some sort of pathological condition. My mouth falls open, only to have my jaw drop deeper and deeper as you continue speaking. This... is not you. This can't be you._

_Oh my god. You're showing me... everything. Everything you are. And I'm not sure if I can handle it. Yes, this is exactly what I asked for, but... I'm a psychopath, damn it. I don't *do* feelings. And tonight I'm being brutally tortured, ripped apart *again* and *again*, and I'm trying to *deal*, damn it, but I can't... it's just too much... I've never had to do this kind of thing and I'm fucking *scared*... And *you* are scared and that's even *more* alarming and we're going to both get utterly fucked up if we don't deal with this here and now._

_And then. You say you love me. You still love me. I... you said you *loved* me. Past tense. But... you still do. After all I've fucking done to you. I... my eyes. They're getting warm and my vision is getting blurry. Oh great. And... you only want me. Oh god your eyes are wet no don't cry Seb because if you're going to cry I'm going to cry and if I cry I... I don't know. But crying is just bad. OK?_

_You're right. You are absolutely right. The sex can wait. If we are going to survive this night..._

_"We need to talk."_

 

You look terrified- you- James Moriarty. The one who can look death in the face and laugh gleefully. I should have realized this would be your Achilles heel. You seem like you’re hanging on by a very delicate thread. Any wrong move, and- snap. Not good for you, and definitely not good for me. There are tears welling up in your eyes, and you’re struggling to take control of your emotions. And then – the words I never in a million years thought would leave your lips. “We need to talk.”

Dread slams through me. It sounds so final. I take in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Then I wipe my eyes quickly. I sit up. Enough of this – you’re already at the point of breaking, and I’m not far behind you. We need to take some of this fucking insane pressure off ourselves before we implode, and we both end up dead on the floor.

I grasp your hand in my hand. “Talk. Yes. Fucking right. But first, I really need to wash off the remains of Brett. Poor fucker…” My lips quirked slightly. “If that’s all right, Sir?” I look at you, a smile playing on my lips. Then I slowly bring your hand up to my lips. I kiss your knuckles and suck them gently. “And- if I can make a request- I’d really like it if you joined me. I haven’t eaten in a few days, and I’m worried I may – faint.” I swallow a laugh, but my shoulders are shaking a little. “And we can talk when we’re in there, or – after.” I squeeze your hand and press a kiss into your palm.

 

_Yes. Smart Seb. Doing normal stuff. Shower. And having some food - I haven't eaten in ages and I had that half bottle of whiskey. That can't help my mental state any._

" _Yes. You're right. We need to... calm down a bit. And eh, yes, wash Brett off your cock. Sorry about that," I half-grin. "And fuck, yes, we both need to eat. And - Seb -" I touch your jaw, lift it up so you look at me, "For now - it's Jim."_

 

You relax visibly. Thank Christ. It felt like every move I could make could be catastrophic. You’re down for the shower - fucking great. That’ll go a long way to soothing our ragged nerves. We both look like we’ve been through an emotional warzone. And maybe - just maybe - the shower will lead to other things. An image springs to mind of sucking you off in the shower, and it’s making me start to go hard, despite my exhaustion. But then - your hand is on my jaw, lifting it to look at you. “For now - it’s Jim,” you say. And with that, the tension drains from my body. You’re Jim again. (MY Jim…) A smile starts to break out across my face, almost shyly. I quickly look away and stand up. (Stop grinning like an idiot schoolboy, Seb…) I manage to smother it into a wry smirk, and I reach out my hand to you. “OK, Jim. You’re coming with me...”

 

 _That smile. That smile makes you look about twelve years old, and so utterly adorable. You pull me up, and I let myself be taken to the shower, the shower where the whole saga began, aeons ago - was that this same night!? The expensive bottle still on the floor, among the dirty towels. You grab two clean ones, turn on the water, gently guide me under the stream, and I let myself be handled. I'm *_ _so*_ _tired all of a sudden._

_I lean my head against your chest, and you wrap your arms around me, just holding me under the warm water, which runs over us, cleanses us, washes away all the grime and soot of the past year, all the endless days we were separated. I don't think it counts if you cry in the shower because no one can see._

 

In the water, my body and my heart are at peace. My mind is another story – randomly shouting at me, causing alarm - reminding me repeatedly that ‘this wasn’t supposed to happen’ and ‘this was not the plan’. I had been so angry. I had wanted to be violent and aggressive with you - I still want to. And if you’re planning to put my body through the usual pain and sweet torment during our next game, know that I will have some pain to deliver too, sweetheart. Not like a relentless, calculating genius, but like the dangerous, prowling beast you know me to be. This Tiger is yours, but there are claws and teeth that should not be forgotten.

I wanted to rake you over the coals for everything you put me through. And oh, I still do. I haven’t forgotten my own psychopathic tendencies for a second, Jim.

And most of all, I wanted to take my time deciding if I would ever forgive you, and make you suffer for it. But in the end, I couldn’t stop myself from dropping to my knees and asking you to make me YOURS. My mind can shriek hysterically all it likes, but it happened. Of course it happened! Is it so shocking that it happened? But even when I was placing myself willingly under your power, there was a part of me that wanted to push back hard – harder than you’ve ever seen. And believe me, I still plan to - it will be my fucking pleasure. You’d have to be naïve to not realize this, but you were never naïve about the darkness inside me, were you Jim? Just like I never was about yours.

I had plans to make you pay - to leave you as broken and shattered as I was. So why did I reach out to rescue you when you were struggling to stay strong? Why did I risk all to break the rules, not knowing if you would punish me for it with your formidable talent for torment? Why do I now find myself holding you in the shower – the same goddamned shower where this whole twisted evening began? It wasn’t long ago that we were threatening to shoot each other with Berettas – a criminal genius and his own personal assassin facing down in an alley. London has no idea of the epic moment that happened between her two most dangerous creatures. Not that you would know it to look at us now - with both of us clinging to each other in the shower, me holding you tightly, your face buried in my chest. I’m feeling your body relax slowly as you sigh. I know you can feel the tremors running through my muscles. I know your face is wet not just from the water, but from the tears that are anathema to you – but I would lick those tears from your face if you'd let me. Because you’re crying them for me, as you would for no one else. And I know now you love me, beyond a shadow of a doubt - I'm sorry it took me 2 hours to believe you; but in my defence, you're a total shit, and it's been a crazy fucking night.

The water is running over us, cleansing us. It feels like a new day, even though I have no idea what the fuck the time is. Technically it’s taken us years to get to this point of cracking open, past our mighty defences, and our raw, hidden wounds. We didn’t just have personal demons, we had a legion of hellspawn driving us on towards death and destruction - including our own. And maybe we still do, but right now, I feel nothing of that - as if Hell itself has opened the gates and granted us reprieve. Maybe it’s only a temporary pass – do criminals of our calibre get to live happily ever after? It seems unlikely, but I’ll tell you this bedtime story over and over if you want to dream with me and forget about all the pain that brought us to this moment. I have not one fucking regret, if I can face the future with you.

As the warm water runs over us, and your sighs become less agitated and more (dare I say it?) content, I wonder what we will do next. The wise thing to do would be to sit down at the kitchen table like human beings and eat something – we could both use the nutrients to keep from falling apart any more. Then we could talk, like we sorely need to do - even you see that now. My brave Jim, who’s battling as many demons as I am...

But if I were a wise and practical man, I never would have fallen in love with you in the first place. And tomorrow there will be so much emotional fallout to sort through - from my year of nightmares and this ridiculous evening, which brought us together in a way that I never dreamed was possible. So instead of suggesting food or conversation, I place my hand on your neck, and gently pull your head back. And I kiss you like I’ve never kissed you before - deeply, wetly and slowly. Water is running over our salty tears, and I feel I could do this forever. I’m like a teenager, painfully horny and falling in love for the first time - but also the last. I break off from the kiss regretfully, my hand still holding your head. I look at you closely, see how fatigued you are. We haven’t had sex yet, and it’s making me feel restless and frustrated - but I’m also bone-weary, and you look even worse off than me.

“Want to go to bed? We should probably eat something first,” I say. You look up at me, blinking sleepily - seeing you like this, in an unguarded, undefended state, does something to me - something animalistic. And I sink to my knees, slide my hands around your arse and look up at you hungrily as water streams over your beautiful face.

 


	4. Little Fucker

_I can feel you trembling. I can only guess at the internal battles you are fighting, but I know you reasonably well and I am a genius, so I'd say the most prominent one is whether to continue with your original urge to defy me, or to submit to me again. And though you know there's only one possible outcome to this, you are torn because you have been *so*_ _hurt and you are scared... and vengeful. I've driven you to the edge time and again over the years, but I've always been careful to move your boundaries a little at the time, never to actually drive you over. Now I have, and you are no longer who you were. Neither am I. And that's scary, and both of us were tempted to fall back into our old pattern, to re-establish familiarity - but we couldn't. And here we are._

 _And then you kiss me, and the world disappears. My never-quiet brain seizes up and is silent. Which should frighten me even more, but it is instead *so*_ _welcome. The quiet. The quiet in my head that no drink or drug ever managed to give me. It's like you tilting my face up cuts the blood supply to my head and instead it is gradually being filled with all the love you pour in through your kiss. I taste salt - your tears or mine? - it doesn't matter, they're the same. This moment should last forever. Could we die now, to face eternity with this as our last earthly act?_

_You pull back, and I grudgingly return to the world, which, at the moment, is bearable, because it is wet, and warm, and soft, and full of Sebastian. I open my eyes and see you look at me intently, worry, restlessness, horniness battling on your face. Surprisingly for you, common sense wins out - you suggest sleep and food and you are so right._

_But then - you're on your knees and look at me yearningly and how could I resist that look, that position, so achingly familiar, absent for so long?_

_My cock jumps in your direction - it remembers all too well the pleasures that your mouth promises._

_But no._

_I sink down with you, sitting on the slippery floor of the shower, taking your face in my hands, looking at your disappointed eyes._

_"We are no longer who we were. Which is terrifying for both of us. And it's tempting to slip back into old patterns - there's safety in them - but there's also so much at risk here. You were so right, Sebastian. We need food. We need to sleep. And then we need to talk. Before we have sex again. Because if we do it wrong - it could damage either or both of us. You saw what happened earlier - I was trying to force myself to take charge, and don’t worry, I *_ _will*_ _, you’re not getting off that lightly, Moran,” I wink, a half-arsed attempt at humour, “but I was shaking like a reed inside out of fear that I’d say or do the wrong thing and chase you off, or worse, damage something inside you.”_

_I sigh, stroke your shoulder. “I could always dominate you so well because I knew *_ _exactly*_ _what you were feeling at any one time. And now – I can’t. Your feelings are all over the place. As are mine. So if we just jump into sex, however much we both want it, and fuck, you looking up at me with bedroom eyes and your face inches from my cock… it took all my self-control to step away from that; it’s… no one knows what would happen. We’re dangerous men, Sebastian. Let’s not be dangerous to each other. Again.”_

_I stand up, pull you up with me, I’m not having you look at my cock like that again or all good intentions will go out the bathroom vent, give you a chaste peck on the lips._

_“We are going to eat. We are going to sleep. If we are too desperate, we could share a wank. Just to clear our minds. And we make a promise *_ _now*,_ _that tomorrow when we wake, and both have a clear mind, we *_ _will*_ _talk. And we will be *_ _honest*_ _. Because too much is at stake if we are not, and I swear I will kill you before hurting you again.”_

One moment I’m inches away from your cock, staring up at you longingly, and the next, you’re on the floor of the shower with me. You’re telling me why we shouldn’t take things to the next level before we're emotionally ready - it feels so unfair to be so close(!!), and so achingly far from what I want. I just want to be with you again, Jim. I need this... Can’t we have this again? Please? I’ve tried to be strong for so long… Your hands are holding my face, and you’re staring into my eyes. Slowly the realization sinks in that you’re trying so hard to protect this beautiful thing between us that’s new and so, so fragile. Water is streaming down around us, and it’s the most romantic moment of my life. I never thought such things were meant for me, and definitely not for us. And since I had decided long ago that you were the only man for me, I just thought whatever you gave me was all I could have, and all I deserved. I never in a million years would have expected this soft warm glow that's growing between us, driving away pain and fear.

You pull me up, and kiss me sweetly. You lay down the law firmly – no sex yet. Food first, then sleep. And then- “…we will talk. And we will be honest. Because too much is at stake if we are not, and I swear I will kill you before hurting you again.”

Looking into your eyes, I find such comfort and relief in following your direction. I sigh softly and nod. I follow you out of the shower, and we towel off. I look over at you, and you look so tired.  
“I know you’re right, Jim - about all of it. It’s so hard being around you, and not being able to touch you like I want to. But you’re right. And I appreciate the threat you slid in there, even while you were being so sweet.” I smirk, despite myself. “It’s very comforting.” Then I reach out and towel off your hair. Your hair sticks up all spiky, and I grin. I kiss your forehead, and push you gently towards the door. “As ever- after you.”

 

_You are playing dangerously, Moran. You know better than to touch the hair. I smooth it down and back, then lean back on a kitchen chair while you rummage through cupboards and throw some beans into a pan, fry some eggs. The chair isn’t very comfortable, but I won’t sit in the living room. I don’t think I’ll want to be in a different room from you for a while._

 

It's amazing how familiar this is - me preparing food for us. As if the last year didn't happen. Only now instead of being off in the living room on your laptop, you're here with me in the kitchen - watching. I can sense wheels still turning gently in your mind. Like how I'll pay later for the hair, Jim? I can't help but smirk as I slide bread into the toaster. If I stop to think about that future scenario, I'm going to end up pulling you from your chair and bending you over the counter and - _sigh_. You've already made your decision known about physical intimacy, and how we need to talk first. I know you're right, and things are still precarious - so I don't want to cross that line, no matter how arousing the thought. Shit - so stop thinking, idiot. Eggs. Beans. Toast. Tea.

 

I manage to finish preparing the simple meal, without pulling off your clothes and mounting you. Gold fucking star for me. Soon enough, we're eating at the table, and this is the best food I've had in a year. Everything tasted like ashes, without you in the world.

 

Despite the emotional shell-shock of the evening, I'm surprised to realize I'm feeling - content. I munch the last of my toast, and watch you sipping the last of your tea, holding the cup with both hands. I can tell the wheels in your mind are slowing down. Seeing YOU content in the aftermath of this evening feels like finding a flower blooming in a battlefield, opening slowly towards the sunlight.

I get up to put dishes away, but I feel drawn to slide my hand gently along the back of your neck. There has been a lot of aggressive physical touch this evening, fuelled by anger or lust. It feels less familiar to touch you this way, and it strangely has a hypnotic effect on both of us. You close your eyes. I find myself slowly massaging your neck muscles. I watch as the wheels in your mind grind to a halt, and you press like a cat against my hand. You're practically purring, and warmth spreads through my body. "Bed?" I ask in a husky voice. Oh. That came out sounding far more suggestive than I meant it. Your eyes fly open to meet mine, and it's like being zapped by a live wire. The electricity feels like a crackling physical presence between us. My breath catches in my throat.

 

_... huh. I've never seen you get turned on by toasters before. I know, Seb, I feel the same, but... it's not wise. I am not going to bend you over the counter and fuck you, no matter how you flaunt your pert muscular arse at me._

_The food is delicious. It's so good to have proper British fare again. I had no idea how much I missed it. Or perhaps it's just because I haven't eaten in... twenty hours or so? Or.... because nothing tastes quite like the food you cook, even though you suck at it and only know like two recipes and always add too much salt and fuck, I've missed you._

_We eat in silence, both too tired and raw to dare start a conversation. We can't hack the big subjects yet, but small talk would be ridiculous. The silence feels comfortable._

_Then you get up and touch my neck and - massage me? I... never even thought to ask you to do that before. It didn't seem like the type of touch we'd exchange. Tender, and gentle... That's not you. That's not us._

_But you are great at it - I should have realized, snipers have amazing fingers. So strong and sensitive. I've enjoyed those fingers in so many ways, but this is definitely going to be added to the repertoire in the future. I relax more and more under your expert ministrations, feeling my body melt into blissful relaxation._

_And then, just as you have kneaded me into complete defencelessness, you hit me with that one word, one syllable, *_ _so*_ _filled with thrilling promise it cuts off my breath. My eyes jump up to yours and your_ _eyes_ _, god, your eyes, shock, desperation, hunger, suddenly filling them, making your pupils dilate rapidly, I hear your breath catch in your throat and what the fuck am I *_ _doing*_ _, what am I thinking; how could I *_ _ever*_ _imagine I could spend another *_ _second*_ _not touching you, I've spent a hellish *_ _year*_ _not touching you, not touching you is the last thing I want, it's horrible, it should never happen again, and I jump up and push you against the wall, kissing you, ravenously, deeply, desperately, feeling that same desperation in you, my hands all over your body, as your hands grasp mine, urgently pulling me closer, lost, both of us lost, adrift at a tempestuous sea with only each other to cling onto, and we will die, we will unquestionably die if we let go._

 

One minute, I’m massaging your neck, and the next, you’re shoving me against the wall. For a split second, I think you’re attacking me; I’m this close to leaping into defence mode, but then your lips cover mine, and thank god, thank god, because I can’t take any more ugly moments, Jim... Instead I have you kissing me desperately, and your hands running over my body. You don’t have to convince me- I kiss you back with deep hunger, my hands gripping your hair.

I try to think of what to do next, but it’s like swimming through molasses to use my brain right now. My thought process has simplified to ‘Bedroom- too far. Couch- too far!’ and the next thing I know, I’m sweeping everything off the table, and hauling you up to the sound of smashing bone china. ”Sorry,” I growl, deep in my throat, as I’m pulling off the clothes we had thrown on after our shower. At last, at last, your naked body is under mine – strong and lean, but smaller than I remember. (Mental note: learn to cook.)

I kiss you hard, then pull away and look down at you – staring up at me from the kitchen table where we just had our first meal together since your death. The same electricity jolts me, and immediately I’m travelling down your body, kissing you desperately, until I reach your cock. I couldn’t bear it if you told me not to again. Daringly, I don’t look up for your approval before taking you into my mouth. I’m moaning as I blow you - fuck, it’s so hot to be pleasuring you again, and now I’m looking up and you’re watching me, and it’s even hotter. I stop to ask, “Do you want to move somewhere more comfortable?” and grin at you conspiratorially.

 

_You pick me up bodily and throw me on the table and it's so good to feel your strength again. You are feral, truly once again my Tiger, as you rip off our few clothes and dive onto me, kissing me, hard, then pulling away, looking at me, and I know what you are going to do, it's written so clearly across your face, and yes, yes please Sebastian, please, we will talk but right now that mouth should be used for what it's been created for. I'm waiting for you to ask permission, you would never just start sucking my cock, you wouldn't dare, you..._

_Oh. OH. Sebastian. God. Christ. Fuck, that mouth. Oh my god, that mouth is probably illegal in so many ways. Your tongue does things that make my legs give out and you *_ _moan*_ _which sends tremors up and down my entire body. I look down to see you glancing up with those_ _eyes_ _which have a lustrous gleam in them, I remember that gleam, that gleam that meant I was about to have a *_ _very*_ _good time._

 _Then you stop, which is *_ _definitely*_ _illegal, and your mouth forms words, which is not what it should be doing. My brain takes a moment to parse what you say, and I don't get it - what could be more comfortable than your mouth? I don't trust myself to speak, just whimper and grab your hair, push you back._

You are completely out of your head, lost to the ecstasy of the pleasure my mouth is giving you – and I know this, because in response to my question, there are no threats, no clever words, and no Game. There’s just you – spread out on the kitchen table, eyes unfocused, and barely comprehending my question. Your only thought is the lack of my mouth on your cock, and that fucking whimper nearly undoes me, and now you’re yanking me by the hair back into position. I guess that answers whether you approve, Jim?

I chuckle, deep in my throat, and return to sucking you so hard, there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be, unless I was impaled by your cock, or I was riding you with mine – but I know that’s not going to happen yet, so I just keep sucking you off, and your moaning is driving me insane, and I know you’re not going to last much longer. And that’s probably for the best, given the decision from earlier. And I know you’re right, but FUCK, I missed you, and FUCK ME, you’re so hot, I just want to give you a little taste of what’s to come – so as I lick and suck you, I grip your taut arse, and slowly slide a couple of fingers into my mouth. I slide one into you; then a second; and slowly I begin to move them in and out.

 

 _Hold on. Don't push it Moran. I said maybe a reciprocal wank, and you've *_ _already*_ _defied me by diving at my cock, but I'll let you get away with that for now, though it's fun to think about what I'll do to you later, but don't... unhf... don't think you'll get to fuck me before we've talked. Really. No. It's not happening... oh... oh god Moran... oh FUCK you and your sexy mouth, oh god Seb, I'm dying for you to fuck me... no, fuck, don't, don't listen to me... wait, am I even speaking out loud? ... God. You... Sebastian, oh god Sebastian, I have missed you so fucking much, I love you Sebastian, beautiful, sexy, sweet, hot Sebastian, god, tomorrow when we've talked I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll cry, I'm going to cut off every bit of skin that anyone else has touched, well, most of them, I'll leave your cock, your fucking amazing cock, because you'll need to fuck me too, fuck me hard Seb oh Seb fuck Seb Seb SEB...._

 _I black out. I *_ _literally*_ _black out for a second as I come more spectacularly than I ever can recall doing. My entire being contracts inside my balls, then explodes its way out of my cock into your throat, and spreads in glorious waves through my body, filling me with electric rushes, surge after surge spasming through me until I am sure I am going to really pass out, I can't breathe, and I think I am shouting something, though I can't for the life of me tell what._

 _You don't stop, you *_ _never*_ _stop afterwards and it is too much, I can't, I can't; I'm writhing on the table, clawing in vain at the wooden surface, making noises, incoherently, begging you, whimpering, actually crying._

 

The sounds that come out of you… are unlike like anything I’ve ever heard, and I’m so fucking hard, all I can think about now is plunging my cock into you over and over and over again – but for now, I’ll have to be content to suck your cock and listen to you moan and whimper. There are words mixed in there too, like “oh FUCK you” and “don’t” and finally “so fucking much”. Then your words are completely swept away in the tidal wave of your orgasm crashing down over you. I’m overcome at the beauty of it, of YOU writhing against me, clawing at the table, weeping and begging me – begging me - oh fuck, Jim, are you even going to let me leave this room alive?

I swallow, and slide my mouth off your cock in stunned silence. I lay my head lightly against your hip and listen to your ragged breathing and sighs. I slide my palm around your thigh, and squeeze gently with my fingers. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to touch you for, without reprisal – what kind of rules you’ll demand tomorrow, or which I’ll even be capable of following. So for now I move carefully through this no-man’s land of no rules, crawling slowly along the length of your body, and just collapse next to you – my shoulder and hip gently pressed against yours. We’re both just staring up at the kitchen ceiling, as if we’re looking at fucking stars. I turn my head slightly, and catch your eye, and it all feels so sweetly funny, in a demented way - everything leading to this moment of lying on a kitchen table, surrounded by broken china, on the day that I was supposed to die. My eyes hold your gaze for a moment, then I quickly look back at the ceiling, hiding my smile.

 

_Purple waves of delight lap through my body in gradually, very gradually decreasing rushes that make me shiver. I’m aware of you coming to lie down beside me and I reach for your hand, needing something to keep me tethered to the earth._

_When I can finally open my eyes again I look to the side, feeling you turn your head, seeing you quickly hide a smile. Well, you earned it. Fuck, I’m never going to be able to get up off this table. My muscles are completely incapacitated. My breathing is back to normal but I feel like you’ve sucked out all my energy, like some kind of kinky vampire._

_I think you didn’t finish your tea. I find a mug teetering on the edge of the table, mercifully not empty. I lift my head with superhuman effort and drink the cold bitter liquid - ugh. Sugar, Moran._

_It restores some life, I guess, and I turn to look at you. See your face. How do you manage to look simultaneously apprehensive and smug?_

_I sigh. “I’ll forgive you for disobeying a direct order seeing as that was the best fucking orgasm ever and we’re in a bit of a limbo situation at the moment. But don’t make a habit of it. Now, I can’t walk so you’ll carry me to the bedroom and then I’ll deal with you.”_

 

I had so wanted to hold your hand, thought about it… and now I feel you reaching for mine. My eyes widen - this is some serious fucking afterglow for us. The feeling of your hand in mine - I could get used to this. I could really get fucking used to this… You drain the rest of my tea, and turn back to me - you let me know I’m off the hook for my blatant disobedience, and tell me to carry you to the bedroom. Bossy - so bossy. I feel simultaneously comforted and chafed by the tether that magically re-emerged this evening. I suddenly realize I’m very much looking forward to a conversation about a relationship for the first time in my existence.  
I hoist myself up to lean on my elbow, and look down at you. I take your face in one hand and kiss you slowly, but with growing hunger. I nip at your bottom lip, and then press my forehead to yours. “It will be a pleasure serving under you, Sir.”

Then I do what I had also imagined, but had stopped myself from doing – I get up from the table and pick you up in my arms. I gingerly step around all the shattered bone china (I’m sure I’ll hear about THAT tomorrow), and I carry you to the bedroom. My muscle tremors are momentarily gone. I could carry you for a century and never grow tired. I was built for this. I was born for this. I am your rock, your weapon, your tower of strength. I lay you on the bed, stretch out next to you… then I take your hand and press it to my lips.

 

_I... shit. It’s so easy to fall back into how we were. But I don’t know if that’s ok yet. I can’t read you yet. You look - conflicted. I hold my breath as you slowly raise your head and look at me. Your eyes tell me nothing as I wait for an eternity, once again completely at your mercy. This is not getting any easier._

_Then you kiss me, hungrily, bite my lip again, and I relax, sinking away into your touch. And then. *_ _serving_ _._ _under you_ _._ _Sir_ _.*_

_Oh god I got my Seb back._

_You carry me to the bedroom as if I’m your new bride, and it kind of feels like that, in a weird way. I realize that no matter how often we’ve fucked, I don’t think we’ve yet made love. Until just now. I just... want to keep you close._

_You lay me on the bed and kiss my hand and it’s so good to see your old self again but I can’t let us slip into that pattern yet, no matter how comfortable it feels. We need to deal with the new men we have become and though it’s going to be hard, I think the men who will emerge will be better, stronger, and... dare I say... more genuine. I love old Seb but I want to know this new side of you. I want to know everything of you._

_I look deeply into your eyes as I lean over to kiss your mouth, your neck, make my way down your chest with all its familiar scars, down to your loins. I look up, into your face, emotions warring in your expression, as I take your cock in my mouth._

_Then I take your hand, place it on my head. And I start licking, sucking gently._

 

Once I'm lying down next to you, your eyes are fixed upon me - devouring me. Your kiss is slowly consuming me. And your mouth is... your mouth is... "Fuck," I groan. "FUCK..." My hand is pressing against the back of your head, pressing you so hard against me. I'm grinding against your mouth, and it feels so fucking good. My hips thrust forward, I'm pulling your hair hard, and I know it's against the rules, but fuck the rules, no matter how hard I have to pay tomorrow. I look up briefly to see your eyes gleaming as you're sucking me so hard, and then I throw my head back and let out a moan like I'm fucking dying. And I know there's an orgasm building that is going to annihilate me, annihilate the past, and sweep away everything under the sun except you, Jim. Just you, like you wanted.

 

I whimper, and my eyes squeeze shut. Little fucker... there's no coming back from this, is there...

_My unusual attentions appear to be appreciated. I like to think I'm good with my mouth and, well, I didn't really give Brett much of a chance earlier, did I. The memory makes me growl and I suck harder - I will make you utterly and completely mine again if I have to kill every eligible male on this fucking island. Your responses soon dissipate my anger though - you didn't really respond to Brett at all. You were really playing me. Even sticking your dick in another man's mouth was all about me._

_Your moan sounds... well, like you've pined for someone for a year and finally have them home and sucking your cock. It sounds like you're being strangled with emotions and are on the brink of dying la petite mort and are terrified there will be no coming back from it. That moan sounds like your last grasp of control is being wrested from you and you're not sure if you're delighted or mortified to see it go._

_Your hand tightens in my hair as you whimper and it is the most beautiful sound in the whole wide world. It's the sound of a man losing his grip on the very edge of whatever sanity he was clinging to and hurtling into the abyss, which is welcoming him with open arms._

 

I’m getting so close, baby- so close. Oh FUCK, what your mouth is doing to me… My other hand is now on your head as well – the closer I get, the tighter my grip becomes. Please, I’m sobbing – I need it... I’m pressing towards the final moment, thrusting my hips into it - that pulsing barrier between me and sweet oblivion. I can feel it hovering before me – and then I’m floating into infinite blackness through shimmering points of light. I feel like you’re already waiting there, Jim - and when I join you - what will we become?

Then I’m slamming back into my body, gasping raggedly, and I finally surrender to it - a tidal wave of an orgasm that tears through me so violently, a cry is ripped from me... my voice catches, my body is shaking uncontrollably... and then I’m gone – far, far away, and it’s a place of nothingness and boneless peace. And place where I'm in pieces…

It takes me time to gather the fragments of myself, and find my way back. It's like following a gleaming thread through endless dark tunnels. And when I emerge from the darkness, your face is the first thing I see.

 

 _You grab my hair and fuck my mouth, which is another unthinkable situation, but feels so good. It’s just... right. I focus my full concentration on giving you the best experience possible, opening my throat, pressing my tongue against you, fondling your balls. I feel them contracting as you push harder, deeper, and make the most *_ _delicious*_ _noises, I should install recording equipment in the bedroom. Is that sobbing? Wow, we really are getting out of our comfort zones._

_And then I got you there, your seed spurting into my mouth, your hands grasping in my hair desperately, clinging onto me for dear life, and I can feel your desperation, hear it in your cry as you are wrenched away from reality; your uncontrolled shivering witness to how intense this is for you. I can imagine - I went through much the same earlier. I’m hoping yours is as good as mine was. It better be better than any you’ve had while I was away. Stop thinking about that. That’s tomorrow. Concentrate on Seb, on how undone he’s coming._

_I use your trick of gently keeping licking and sucking after orgasm and make you writhe, but your gasps are sounding far away now - have you passed out? I pull myself away from your cock, move up the bed._

_You look completely out of it - both blissed out and in agony, tears in the corners of your eyes. I see the lines in your face that weren’t there a year ago, beside your eyes, your mouth - they are lines that speak of a bitter, sad, painful time, and I carved each and every one of them._

_You open your eyes and I gasp. I can look straight into your soul. And it’s dark and bloody and agonized and conflicted and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen._

I feel like I've been hollowed out- incapable of thought or speech. My heart is pounding. My breathing is quick and rough. In this moment your eyes are the only thing in the universe.

"You're- alive," I murmur. "Jim... you're really here...?"

 

_Those words make my heart (what heart?!) squeeze uncomfortably. Of course. That’s going to be the first thing on your mind for a bit. I’m not good at reassurance, it’s kind of the opposite of where my talents lie, but I’ll have to learn quickly._

_“I’m alive. And I’m here.” I stroke your forehead, your hair, your cheek. “I’ve come back for you, Sebastian. Come back_ _to_ _you. Because I love you. And I won’t leave again.”_

_It makes my heart pound like a sledgehammer against my rib cage to say The Word again, but it’s needed. For the first time in my life, I care about someone else’s comfort. I can only hope that that orgasm hasn’t changed your desperation for me._

 

I swallow hard; my heart is beating in my chest like a caged bird. Your hand is touching my face. Your words are touching my soul. "I used to wake up and think you were still alive. And then-" I blink quickly. Your eyes are full of conflict - alarm. Remorse. Tenderness. Deep longing. My breath catches in my throat.

You've said The Word three times now. Once in the closet before I punched you and ran out. Once in the bedroom when we were trying to play our old games, and crumbling under the weight of the moment. And now after one supremely orgasmic reunion.

Hearing "I love you" feels like the very essence of cognitive dissonance. It's equal parts alarming and... sublime. It's not for damaged, dangerous men like us to hear and say, and yet- in a deep, dark place in my heart, I've craved it for so long. I wouldn't even admit to myself, and yet it used to run through my head over and over, like a mantra - when you dominated me, when you hurt my flesh, when you sucked me off, when you fucked me... and towards the end of our relationship, when I watched you sleeping, working on your laptop, drinking tea and looking out the window, any random moment - _iloveyouiloveyouFUCKiloveyou_ \- it would pop into my mind, and I would bite my tongue to keep the unthinkable from happening, sometimes drawing blood.

I have to stop myself from biting my tongue now. My throat starts to close up, and I take a deep breath. "I love you too, you little fucker," I say quietly. And I pull you down to my chest, and slide my arms around you at last.

 

_Thank fuck for that. You say The Word back. And you’re your usual sassy self again. I missed your sarcastic big mouth almost as much as I missed the trouble that sarcasm would get you into._

_But the insult of endearment doesn’t diminish the impact of The Word at all, it instead heightens it - it is *_ _you*_ _, the true, complete, and undisguised Sebastian saying this._

_You pull me into your arms and it’s then that I’ve truly come home. My head resting on your broad chest, my hand on your heart, stroking you gently, the tension of the evening slowly sinking into the mattress, feeling your heartbeat calm slowly. I’m bone weary but afraid of falling asleep, wary of what the morning may bring._

_We’re nowhere near alright yet. But we’re going in the right direction._

_My eyes slide shut and as I drift off, I mutter “I’ve missed you, you big fucker.”_


	5. Morning, Sunshine

I'm walking with you through a jungle - I look back, telling you to hurry up. We have to get out of here, before the tiger finds us. You keep stopping to point out exotic flowers - ones that looks like they want to feast on your flesh. "Let's take this one home, Sebbie - we'll call it Destiny." Your voice sounds wistful. I look back, and you've fallen far behind. I yell at you to hurry up, and you look so hurt, you sit on the ground and refuse to move - your face is so young, so wilful. I look up and there's an enormous spider hovering over you, hanging from a thread. I hear tinny diabolical laughter, and turn around just as the tiger is leaping towards me, clawing its way through me to get to you.

_I wake up. Tense. Sebastian is having a nightmare, careful, he may lash out. Wait no you’re not with Sebastian anymore. Then who the fuck is in my bed?!_

_Wide awake._

_Sebastian. The bed? Home. Fuck. I’m home. Sebastian. Oh god Sebastian._

_Oh god. Oh fuck. Fuck. *FUCK*_ _._

_Panic. I’m under attack. Defence. How? Identify attack. Attack appears to be internal not external. Heart attack. No, no physical pain. Insanity. No - I can still think clearly._

_Memories. The shower. The scream. The Word. From you. From me. Oh *fuck*_ _._

_Oh Sebastian what have we done?! This is not who we are. What was I thinking?! Panic. Stop. Think. Stop panicking Moriarty and fix the issue._

_Identify issue. Memories causing panic. Identify exact memories. Memories blur together. Unravel. Separate. Stomach protesting. Irrelevant - result of mental anguish. Dismiss._

_Declaration of love. Punch. Sebastian walking out. Never coming back. Sebastian with another man. Reclaiming. Fear. <— Relevant. Revisit. Cause of fear? Rejection. Absence of Sebastian. Weakness exposed, liable to be exploited. Tried eliminating weakness - not possible. Damn. Exposure. Hole in the armour._

_Identify risks. 1. Removal of Sebastian. 2. ... That’s it. No other risks present. (Sebastian exploiting weakness? <— irrational fear. Dismiss. No but wait Jim. This is what happens when you show weakness, people exploit it. *_ _Irrational. Dismiss.*_ _Sebastian is people too. He’ll run roughshod over you. You’ll be torn to shreds. *_ _He would never. I trust him with my life.*_ _Yes your life is one thing, but your heart? He’ll break it, it’s what people do. *_ _So what can I do!?!*_ _... unknown.)_

_Wait wait wait. I have loved before. (*_ _PAIN*_ _) No wait. I love myself, right? (*_ _No. Hatred. Contempt.*) No, wait, I do. Enough to keep myself alive and comfortable. Ok? (*_ _Ok...*) So. Extend that. Now we just need to keep Sebastian alive and comfortable too. (*_ _Too many risks and variables.*_ _) Well that’s life, isn’t it? There are risks and variables in keeping yourself alive too. Just expand that. You’re the bloody genius._

_So. Keep Sebastian safe and fine. Doable? But. It’s not just his body. If you are to keep him here and keep him happy, which is *_ _essential*_ _, you are responsible for his entire being, because you had to have it all, didn’t you? (*_ _I had no choice.*)_

_... We really need to talk._

 

Surge of adrenaline, jumping back in blind panic. Arms shielding my face. Wide-eyed, breathing erratically.

In bed. Someone lying next to me. Someone? Jim?? If I look at you, will I see your pale, bloody face again? Lifeless and accusing? I can't look - I won't. I'm pressed against the headboard, eyes squeezed shut. Bits and pieces streaming through my mind at breakneck speed-

Big Reveal in the shower. Did you miss me? All this fucking time... total fucking meltdown.

The alley. Showdown. Don't. Fuck. With. Me. Please- come home.

Make me yours again- Sir. _(Shit!)_

You have never not been mine...

Can we just - figure out - how to be - together? _(FUCK...)_

The shower. The KISS...

Kitchen. Eating food. Smashing china. Sucking you so hard... until you're begging, crying. _(Sebastian, you are so screwed...)_

Bedroom. Fucking your mouth. (SO screwed!) Coming like I've never come before... Oh god... Jim...  
And then...

The Word.

I groan out loud. I _said_ it, didn't I...

WE did. Jim...

Cold fear.

Warm glow. Crush it. Smother it. Don't let him see it. _(He will never let me keep this...)_

You can't sit here forever, soldier - sooner or later, you have to face the daylight... face the monster. (Who's the monster? Jim?? No, darling... Love.)

Cold fear.

Warm glow. So warm... Jim... I have to see you.

Head spinning, I open my eyes. You're lying next to me, staring at me like I'M the terrifying one...  
Fuck... FUCK. We're still trapped in the jungle, aren't we. I bang my head back against the headboard, and look at you from the corner of my eye. "Morning, sunshine," I sigh.

 

 

_You wake up, but you don’t open your eyes. You look - agonised. I can see your face making much the same journey as I just did._

_Yes. I know. It’s fucking terrifying._

_You open your eyes - scared. Hurt. Angry. In love. But mostly, terrified._

_I am the boss. I am in charge of us; I always have been. I have to make this right for both of us. I’m terrified too. And the way to do this is to go against_ _everything_ _my instincts tell me to do. But that’s ok. I’m in control of my mind. I can deal with this. I can._

_Fuck. Why is this so hard? Open your mouth. Tell him. Be honest._

_... yeah, like that *_ _ever_ _* worked._

_It’s the only chance you have._

_*FUCK*_ _, this is hard. Really no other option?_

_No Moriarty. Every other option is more likely to end in disaster. Sebastian disappearing. Sebastian hurt. Be a man and fucking talk._

_“I’m scared too. I’m fucking terrified.” I look at you. No masks, again. This will only work if we’re both honest and fuck this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done._

_“I have never cared about anyone. I don’t know how to do it. But I need to learn. Because I need you, Sebastian. I need you to be here. And I need you to be happy. And I need you to be mine. Completely. And I realize that means I must be yours. Because we can’t pretend to not care any more. It’s gone too far. We need to recalibrate and for that we must know exactly what is going on. We need to get to know each other - not the superficial way we did but deeper than we probably ever looked into ourselves._

_I... am willing to promise you. To be completely honest with you. I will tell you everything I think is relevant, as well as I can. You can ask me anything and I will answer if I can._  
_Can you do the same? So we can decide, together, what we want this to be. This... relationship.”_  
_There. I’ve laid my soul on the table. Please don’t put a knife through it._

 

 

The wheels are turning in your head again. The number of emotions you seem to be processing is dizzying, but it's the same for me, and I don't know a way out of this. But then I see it - determination. The mantle of authority appears on your shoulders, and I could weep from relief when I see it - but I don't. Because you've started Talking - capital fucking T. And the things you're saying- Jesus Christ, Jim... the balls on you... to just drop into that terrifying place where the monsters dwell... I'm in awe. I'm fucking speechless. But you're watching me, waiting - and it feels like your neck is on a chopping block - and the silence that follows is your Executioner, draped in a black hood, and twirling a fucking axe.

So I take a deep breath and raise my eyes to meet yours. "Talking openly and honestly. OK. Not really in my skill set either, but - Jesus, you're amazing. You're a fucking rock star. So I'll try..." I clench and unclench my fists, and let out a long breath.

"I'm - glad you want me to be happy. But I'm guessing it's pretty fucking obvious I'm really not OK after this year... And I'm- afraid that will be too much for you, Jim. But life didn't have a fucking point without you in the world, and the only thing that kept me from blowing my head off was following your final instructions. Now you ask me if I can be honest with you, tell you everything... You're asking me to tear down my own walls, open up my wounds and bleed, lay myself fucking bare to you. Jesus, Jim - don't you know? I've already gone through the worst there is. I won't say it nearly destroyed me, because it did destroy me. I was dead - and the only thing that brought me back was you. Am I terrified of what it means now to risk my heart? YES... Am I petrified at the thought of YOU getting hurt? FUCK, yes. Because if there's one thing in this world I know how to do, it is to step in between you and danger. Terminate the threat. What does that mean here, Jim? Terminating my own heart, showing myself no mercy?" My eyes are stinging with tears, and helplessly I look up to the ceiling.

"I don't know. I don't know!! I don't KNOW how to do this either, but it's the ONLY thing I want. The only thing I've ever wanted. And if that makes me the biggest fucking self-destructive sap to walk the earth, I DON'T CARE. You ask if I can be open with you, for the sake of this relationship- don't you understand? It's not even a question for me... It's always been you, Jim... Lead and I'll follow. Point and I'll kill. Love me and I'll-" my voice breaks, "- do everything. I'll do everything... I'll go to the terrifying places, if you're there. If you're in danger, I'll grab the axe and I won't stop swinging until the threat is terminated. Dead and bloody on the floor. Just- Just don't make me face a world without you, Jim. If you leave me, there's nothing I can do to stop you, but please don't leave this world without taking me with you." My heart is slamming in my chest. "Promise me," I whisper hoarsely. Then I haul you up to a sitting position, and sitting across from you, I grab your head with both hands, and press my forehead against yours. "Promise me..." I growl savagely. And then, more softly. "Please."

 

 

_'I'm really not OK after this year. And I'm afraid that will be too much for you.'_

_That's it. That's the 'it's not you, it's me' line. You're going to tell me that you can't stand being with me any more, you've been hurt too much, I've fucking destroyed you, I've ruined everything with my bloody ignorance and stubbornness._

_'You're asking me to tear down my own walls...'_

_Yes. It's too much to ask. I know. I'm sorry. We can't - could never - be those men. We're fighters, not lovers._

_'don't you know?'_

_Know? Know what?_

_'Terminating my own heart?'_

_Oh. Oh god you'd got to the same conclusion as I had. You are the threat to me. And you're faced with an even more impossible situation. Wanting to defend me at all cost - all cost. Oh god Sebastian. You would._

_'It's always been you, Jim'_

_My eyes are stinging again. I can't do this. I want you to stop talking. No. I need you to keep talking. Wordlessly I put my hand on yours._

_'Don't leave this world without taking me with you.'_

_Great. Tears. Again. Fucking Moran._

_You pull me up, desperation in your eyes, your pulse racing, your hands clawing at my head, pulling me close, asking me, *_ _begging*_ _me to promise you._

_That's your soul on the table, stretched out and torn open, right next to mine. This is it. This is the moment that I link my fate inextricably to yours. I realize we've already done so, ages ago, we just wouldn't acknowledge it, but this is... the affirmation. Like some fucked up marriage promise or something. But stronger than that. No divorce for us - it really is only death that can, and doubtlessly will, part us._

_I open my mouth. It's either this or kill you. So. "I promise. I will never leave you again. And I'll try not to die without you," I grin wryly._

_I look deep into your eyes, still seeing straight into your soul. And I let you see mine. For a long moment, we just sit there, both aware that our lives will never be like they were, that we don't *_ _have lives*_ _any more - it's one life, lived in two bodies._

_After an age, I realize my head is pounding and my stomach is trying to claw its way out through my throat. Ah yes. I don't usually drink._

_"Let's... have some breakfast, some coffee. Then... talk some more. But we have the basis. I'm not going to leave you. You are not going to leave me. All the rest... we can sort out."_

 

 

Foreheads still pressed together, your hand on my hand, you give me your promise. You're staring into my eyes, and it's searing into my soul. It feels like with your words, a chain has wound around us; but when the padlock snaps shut, I don't feel trapped - it feels like I've been set free. My life and fate are chained to yours, and yours to mine.  
  
And within minutes of this monumental moment, we're heading back into the kitchen with bare feet, you in track pants, me in boxer briefs. You're trailing after me. We both stop at the same time, and stare silently at the remains from last night's meal strewn over the floor - the broken china, cutlery, stray pieces of toast. And the memory comes flooding back- of sweeping everything onto the floor, throwing you to the table, and sucking your beautiful cock until you were incoherent and crying.  
I'm grinning like a loon. "Oh, bother... why don't you just have a seat, and I'll take care of it. I'd say sorry about the china, but I regret nothing."

 

I nudge you out of the way, and go collect the broom and dustpan. When I return, you're sitting at the table again, not in the living room as you used to. Your laptop is in front of you, but you haven't turned it on. You seem content to alternate between staring out the window, and watching me as I clean up the mess from last night. Before starting on breakfast, I pour some orange juice for us - my fingers brush against yours as I hand you the glass. My eye catches yours, and heat rises between us. I'm afraid I'll combust - I drain my glass in one shot to distract myself and keep from throwing you on the table again. I pour myself another glass, and drink it like I'm dying of thirst. Then I throw together breakfast sandwiches with eggs and bacon, and before too long, we're sitting at the table again, drinking coffee and eating. Like some version of normal people.

"So, what do you fancy today? Antiquing? Stroll in the park? Maybe we could bring some bread and feed the ducks?" I hide my smile in my coffee mug. By the time I lower it, my expression is all innocence.

_“Fuck off Moran,” I grin. Fuck, this does feel comfortable though, having breakfast together. Your greasy salty idea of eggs and bacon are perfect to soothe my stomach, and the coffee clears my head._

_“I know that innocent expression. And god I’ve missed it. But I’m not going to throw you on the table and fuck you. First because we’re running low on crockery, and second because we’re nowhere near out of the woods._

_I know you aren’t too fond of talking; neither am I, but that’s why we need to do it now or we’ll just never get to it. And I’ve just decided that I would try to keep us both safe and happy, well, safe-ish, I mean, we’re not going to change careers or anything, *_ _but*_ _, today is going to be about talking._

_And today I’m not the boss. And nothing you say will be held against you. We’re both going to be more fucking open and honest than we’ve ever been. I hope you have an abundant supply of cigarettes because we’ll need them. But by tonight I want to know everything you have thought, felt, and done since we met up to now. And I’ll reciprocate. And then, and only then, will I... will_ _we_ _decide how we’re going to fuck each other’s brains out in the coming week.”_

 

 

This declaration of yours hits me like a ton of bricks. Is this a fucking joke, Jim? No sex, after everything that's happened? For the rest of the day?? I let out a long breath, then stare out the window in silence. I look back at you, scanning your face suspiciously for signs of playing games. It's not like sexual frustration and delayed gratification weren't in your repertoire, after all... A wave of resentment shoots through me. NO. Not helping. You just reached such a good place between you - don't fuck it up, Moran...

 

I think carefully, then place my hands on the table. "I get it. So - we'll talk. We'll be open and honest as fuck. But what I don't understand is why sex would be off the table...?" I roll my eyes as you smirk down at the kitchen table. " _So to speak._ Look how much better we felt after coming. Have you considered it might be harder on us if we're not physically intimate? And if you're not the boss today - then don't I get a say in what happens? I mean - I know I haven't exercised my _free will_ much in this relationship, but I _think_ that's the way it works, right?" I'm growing more and more heated, and by the end I'm leaning forward and gripping the table.  
"I haven't been with you for a fucking year! How do you expect me to focus on feelings, when I can't even look at you without getting excited? Jesus, Jim - I'm not exactly on top of my game right now, emotionally. You're asking too much! You always have!!" We stare at each other in stunned silence, and slowly I release my grip on the table, and fall back against my chair.

 

"Shit..." I shake my head, then pull my hands through my hair. I laugh in frustration. "SHIT. OK, I know you're going to say I just proved your point. And you're probably right... clever fucker. But I still think _being with each other_ is exactly what we need." My breath catches in my throat. "I won't push it, if it's not what you want... if you're really concerned it will damage us. But - being open and honest here - I'm not convinced you'll be able to hold out any better than I will. This thing between us - it's love, but it's also a beast. Remember the kitchen this morning? That was after a couple of hours of sexual frustration. How long do you think we can deny ourselves before we destroy the entire apartment... or each other?" I slowly lean back in my chair, rest my elbow on the back, and tilt my chin up at you. "You're up."

 

 

_".... well yes, I am *_ _now*," I quip. But hm, you're probably right. I'm not bad at ignoring physical needs if there are more pressing mental requirements - as you well know having had to practically force me to eat and sleep at times. But you have always been more about the instant gratification, and do get distracted if your wants are not fulfilled - as I have gleefully explored in the past._

_"... I guess you have a point. There never was much use in talking to you when your brain was in your cock. And I guess I can't blame you for being unable to resist the sight of me," I wink._

_"I had planned to have some very intense sex sessions after the talks, when we know exactly where we stand, and I know your mind again - and your heart, which has now become of consideration as well. We can still do that, but it's no use trying to have a good talk with a frustrated Tiger. So short of sedating you, which might not be the best option to get you to talk sense either, I guess having some... less dangerous sex can't hurt. And fuck, I've missed you too and you are *_ _incredibly*_ _sexy, don't get me wrong. I'm just better at ignoring physical needs than you are - but that's a large part of your attraction, your hedonistic sensuality, your animal ferociousness...."_

_Way to go Moriarty, you're getting your memory all fired up and Moran is now looking at you with, indeed, ferocious animal eyes. How did you ever think you'd get past breakfast?_

_"But. Before we destroy the breakfast china, I do want to list the point of 'You're asking too much - you always have' for later discussion._

_And as to the sex. Let's try to leave the violence for later. I know you're dying for revenge, and you shall have it, Tiger; and I'm dying to make you howl out in pain and beg in submission," I swallow, my throat going dry at the prospect, "but I want to leave the proper power games until we both know what we're doing. Because I'm still on shaky ground and so are you. So. Let's leave things *_ _reasonably*_ _tame for the time being? Meaning I'm going to throw you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you cry?"_

_I look up at you with heat in my eyes, but also wariness. Do you understand why I can't switch modes now, why I have to force myself to stay in TameJim mode, or I risk tearing both of us apart?_

 

 

I'm staring at you, my head swimming. Regardless of having been told point blank by you to express my feelings, it feels like breaking a serious rule to actually do it- especially when I find myself getting aggro and yelling at you almost immediately. And somehow it feels like an even _worse_ crime when I say that you ask too much of me (!!)... I cringe inwardly at having dropped this bomb, and the thought of having to discuss this further. Unexpectedly, you take it all in stride - your self-control is blowing my mind, but I also feel I have to be careful not to push too far, too fast. I have no idea how long you can maintain this calm demeanour; I just know no matter how strong and lethal I am, I do not want to be on the receiving end of Moriarty unleashed.

  
But for now I watch in shock as you crack suggestive jokes, wink, and acquiesce to my demanding diatribe. I blink. What... just happened... Did I just get what I want??? Did you just say... you would fuck me until I cry? My arrogant posturing forgotten, I lean against the chair, in shock.

But you've made it very clear that violence and submission have to wait- And you watch me now warily, your eyes silently asking me to be careful. So very careful... The glow in my heart returns to see the extreme care you're taking with our new, fragile bond. Even with a hungry Tiger pacing around your kitchen, growling demands.

 

Slowly I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. I walk over to you - everything feels like slow motion as I offer you a hand up, then pull you from your chair and into my arms. And I hold you for a moment, feeling your warmth and lean body against me. Then I lean in and kiss you. My lips move against yours - gently but firmly. One hand is holding your head, the other is moving down your bare back. My fingers are grasping your muscles, being careful not to bruise or claw. I slip my tongue into your mouth, and the kiss grows heated. I pull you against me, and I moan into your mouth. Then we break apart, breathing hard and staring into each other's eyes.

 

 

 _You look shocked. Well, you should be. I don't think I've ever suggested vanilla sex - one of the great challenges was always to keep surprising you. I grin when I realize that that's exactly what I've done now. But then the heat in your eyes - oh yes, Moran has heard the word ‘_ _fuck’_ _. I grin even wider - your libido has always been legendary, and it appears that nothing has changed there, at least. I remember when we first started shagging - we hardly left the bloody apartment for weeks. I very much hope for something similar after my year of celibacy. Which makes me think of you again - what have you been... of course you've shagged others. Hello, Moriarty, legendary libido. Also, you were dead, remember? But none of them seem to have made too much of an impact - no pictures in your wallet, no suspicious contacts in your phone, no condoms in the bedroom bin. Still. It makes something hot and black rise in my stomach. Not now. Not now. Ask later. Then decide how you feel._

_The heat in your eyes is joined by a warmth - affection, a rare sentiment from you - or is it? With a shock that is nearly physical, I realize that I *_ _have*_ _seen that look before I left, I just... didn't parse it right. Oh fuck you Moriarty, you blundering idiot. So *thick*_ _, so *_ _slow*_ _. Completely unable to fathom that people can look at you with *_ _affection*_ _. Ignoring the evidence of your own eyes in favour of blind bias._

 _But my mental chiding will have to be paused because there is a Tiger pulling me from my chair and into his arms and will this *_ _ever*_ _not feel scary and comforting at the same time? You just hold me against your body, your strong, warm, body, and I relish the feel of your warmth, the sound of your heart, beating slightly fast, your arms, holding me, just holding me. And then you kiss me and the warmth heats up, my heart starts beating faster too, my cock stirs, your hand moving down my back makes me shiver. Your tongue in my mouth, and you moan - *_ _moan*_ _\- I feel myself start to pant, grasping around your back pulling you tighter, and then you break away and look at me and I feel an order coming up and I force my throat shut to stop it from coming out. Damn it, Moriarty, there are more democratic ways to have sex._

_You stare at me like you are about to devour me whole. I grab you and, ask, fucking *_ _ask*_ _, "Do you want me to fuck you?"_

 

 

I inhale sharply. Desire surges through me like a live current, and my mind seems to short out.

Are you honestly asking me that?

Shit - why can't I talk??

I'm still staring and holding onto you, and I haven't said a word.

Is this what hysterical muteness is like?

For Christ’s sake, answer the question, Moran!

"Yeah..." I breathe, "Fuck yeah, I want you to, Jim..."

I tighten my grip on you. "I WANT you..."

I move one hand to your face. "You're all I've EVER wanted..."

And then I touch my forehead to yours, tilting my head to stare intently at you.

"FUCK me," I growl.


	6. Fucking Poetry on the Kitchen Counter

_You look utterly shocked at my sudden instigation of a plebiscite, and seem unable to speak for several moments. I wait patiently, though a niggle at the back of my head insists on telling me that I've turned you off, that you've never had to give an opinion on what happened to you before, that it's probably the entirely wrong thing to say, but I tell it to shut up, because the heat in your eyes is unabated, just joined by a mild panic. Well, not quite mild. In fact, I am on the verge of speaking up, telling you to answer the fucking question, when you breathe your answer and *fuck me*_ _if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever heard. I *_ _know*_ _you always want me, you're the randiest fucker in the Northern hemisphere, but actually *_ _hearing*_ _it, uttered so desperately... is something else._

 _‘You're all I've EVER wanted...’_ _Oh god don't. This was such a hot moment and now you're making my heart swell even more than my cock._

 _‘FUCK me’_ _. In a growl. Ok; cock definitely wins out._

 _I grab your hair and kiss you desperately, pulling you closer, closer, with one hand on your back and the other in your hair, wrap my right leg around you, wanting to climb into you. I pull your boxers down, grab your illegally sexy arse, push your hips against mine, *_ _fuck*_ _you're hot, whose idea was it not to have sex? What an idiot._

_I pull you to the counter, hop up on it, wrap my legs around you, devouring your mouth, scraping my nails down your back._

 

 

The next thing I know you're kissing me, wrapping your body around mine, peeling off my boxers and then I'm naked against you and it's so fucking HOT. Part of me feels smug at how quickly I got you to see the light, and part of me is already trying desperately not to beg and plead. (Jesus, Moran - get it together...) But then you're pulling me up to the counter, and your legs are around mine, and FUUUUCK, your nails against my back make me want to come right then and there. My cock is already so hard, so HARD for you, baby - but I can't come yet. I'm not ready to not be touching you like this. I come up for air, and pant, as I look into your eyes devouring me. I long to bite your neck - not hard enough to draw blood, I know this isn't supposed to be violent, but fuck it would feel good to let out the animal, just a little. My hands are travelling to move your head into place, and there are THINGS in the way, glasses, and dishes, and I want there to be only YOU. I growl and forcefully sweep them onto to the floor. And amidst spectacular clatter, I bury my face in your neck, slowly drag my teeth against your skin, and bite down.

 

_Your cock rubs against mine and it's rock hard, good to see you haven't changed, Moran, never change..._

_You pull away from our kiss and look at me like you are ready to rip me to shreds and I remember why I called you Tiger in the first place. You stare into my eyes with an immense hunger, move your hand, and..._

_Oh for_ _FUCK'S_ _sake Moran, what do you have against the crockery?_

_But you growl and pounce me and the china is the last thing on my mind as you *_ _bite*_ _and I let out a loud groan at that, god that feels good, Sebastian, feeling my Tiger come out and devour his prey, and I'm such willing prey, I've longed for your bites; and I push my head into your grip, wrap my legs tighter around you, pull you close to me, as close as possible, I need you Sebastian, eat me up so I can be inside your body for ever._

 

 

You're into the biting in a big way - pushing against my teeth, wrapping around me like a serpent climbing a tree. I can feel the excitement mounting in both of us, and it's so bloody HOT. Ever since we returned home, I've been panicking and wondering if I've crossed a line (disagreeing, shouting, biting you, smashing your fancy-ass china - twice), but you've been so indulgent about everything - so far. I don't know what lies in store for me after today, but it's a heady thing being in your presence and off the leash. It's intoxicating, it's terrifying and it's sexy as hell - like now, as I'm biting your neck, your jaw line, your ear. I'm not being gentle, but I'm careful to stop short of drawing blood. If there are marks, you can fucking take it out on me tomorrow. Maybe after I exact vengeance on YOU for everything you put me through - little fucker. With this thought, I'm so overcome with desire, I push you down onto the counter, jump up and CRAWL over your body. I'm poised above you, leaning down and staring at you like you're my quarry. "Oh... you were meant to be fucking _me_... " I say in a low voice, "and I so rudely interrupted..." My cock presses against yours, and I rub against it, rocking my hips against yours. I bite my lip and close my eyes, imagining you buried inside me. When I open my eyes, I feel drunk with desire. I thrust hard against you, and say, "I want you NOW, little fucker…”

 

 

_You devour me, bite me all over and it makes my blood rush. I've rarely seen you so ferocious; I usually keep you in check - partly to keep my pristine skin intact, thank you very much; but it's marvellous to see my Beast in all his glory. And it feels intoxicating, your bites nearly but not quite breaking the skin; I surrender into the sensation, the feeling of YOU all over me as you climb on top of the counter, loom over me, consuming me with your eyes. In that moment I see you how your victims must see you - all rapacious predator, your body exuding danger, every inch of you lethal. I look up at you in awe - you really are something else. It's sometimes too easy to forget, accommodating as you are with me, but in this moment I recognize the legendary killer I first heard about and decided to make mine._

_The one thing your victims don't get is that smouldering heat in your look - at least I hope they don't. Nor the insistent cock._

_You remind me that I'm supposed to be fucking you and then you bite your lip - what are you, a teenage girl? Fuck me, that's hot though. Then you open your eyes and the heat has been turned up significantly, I think you'll spontaneously combust if we don't start fucking soon, and I want you, I don't care how or where, sure, the kitchen top is fine, just Sebastian, more Sebastian, all of Sebastian, now._

_I look around - yes, the olive oil survived. It's not the first time the lube in the bedroom has been too far away. I grab the bottle, pour some on my hand, spilling all over the place - careful we don't slither off - then move my hand, line up my finger, move inside you, again, for the first time in centuries._

 

Your eyes are like living flames- it feels like you're seeing me clearly, maybe for the first time. And what you see heats things up between us to an almost unbearable level - one of us will have to go off in search of lube, and fuck if I can remember where it is - it hasn't been relevant since you died. Only you didn't die. You're here, warm and alive, and... reaching for the olive oil still on the counter. (Jesus, Jim...) But if it's between olive oil and getting up to look, I'm not going anywhere. I don't think I could pull myself away from your skin if my life depended on it.

 

You're pouring oil in your hand, and getting all over the counter- _fuck_ , Jim! I'm the one who's going to be on all fours, trying to keep my balance and not land on my face. I look at you incredulously, but you're focused on reaching around me, and sliding your fingers into my arse, and - FUCK, it feels so hot, it drives all other thoughts out of my head. I'm looking down at you as you stretch me, and I'm moaning because it feels so good and I'm so tight, because I couldn't touch anybody since you died and my heart died, and I'm leaning in, and kissing you, slow, deep and wet. And then I'm pulling myself off you so carefully, to give you space to manoeuvre around me- without killing us both.

 

 

 _You are so tight - you've not been whoring around too much then, or haven't let yourself be fucked all that much. Will you *_ _stop*_ _thinking about that, Moriarty, for fuck's sake!? Just focus on Sebastian, on his incredibly sexy tight arse, his eyes, oh god, they're closing slowly, opening again, the burning blue almost disappeared around the deep black pupils, and you *_ _moan*_ _, you moan so full of longing, sadness, sweetness, love, and you kiss me in the same vein and I just melt, that's it, puddle of Moriarty on the counter, wipe me up with a dishcloth, god, Sebastian, how can you be so hot and so adorably sweet?_

_You move around, no, don't move away, no, I want to keep watching you, I want to keep holding you; I grasp your shoulder, pull you back towards me, careful, damn, I made a mess of this counter, don't let him slide off and break his neck, that would be the ultimate irony, insisting on vanilla sex because I don't want to hurt you and you slip on some olive oil._

_I pull your head towards me, bite your neck, your jaw, your earlobe, and growl in your ear, "Ride me."_

 

 

Just as I'm moving so you can get behind me, you pull me down. Biting from my neck to earlobe, like I was doing to you. Suddenly I hear "Ride me" in the sexiest fucking growl, and I come unhinged - I can't wait a moment longer, I'm positioning myself over your hard cock - I rub some olive oil from the counter onto it, and momentarily get lost in sensation - as do you, by the look on your face. Then I'm sliding the head of your cock into me - and I stop for a moment to revel in the sensation, eyes closed, breathing hard. I begin working your cock into me, so slowly. It's taking more time and effort than I had anticipated, but I _don't care_ , because the next time will be easier, and I just want you inside me, after a year of grieving that I'd _never feel you again_. It's such a slow process – slide – moan – stretch – adjust – repeat - until I've finally slid all the way down and I'm filled with your cock. I pause here for a moment, a drop of sweat rolling down my forehead - and I groan with the overwhelming sensations as my internal muscles adjust and squeeze around your cock. And the walls of my self-imposed exile from sex crumble and fall to pieces. When did I start trembling?? There's a lump in my throat, and my chest is constricting painfully. I'm feeling scraped raw, vulnerable - my breath catches in my throat. I can't breathe... I can't hold all these feelings, Jim... but then I look down into your bottomless eyes, gleaming like pools of ink, and I feel everything drop away but you. My chest opens, I'm breathing in, and I can finally do what I've only dreamed of for so long - I close my eyes, and slowly slide up the length of your cock. I pause, take another breath, then slide down on it so devastatingly slowly - until you're buried in me again. I gasp with the burning pleasure of it, threatening to send me over the edge. Then, panting, and drunk with desire, I begin to move against you.

 

_Oh my god. Sebastian. Sebastian. You... oh god you feel amazing. I want to look at you but I can’t stop my eyes from closing with the intensity of feeling you around my cock, so incredibly close, I feel every bit you move down so acutely, it almost hurts. And you moan, so magnificently deliciously, and it takes forever and it’s rapture, it’s bliss, it’s everything I’ve ever needed, YOU are everything I’ve ever needed, how could I not see that? Focusing on Holmes, on the Empire, ignoring the fucking paradise I had at home because that wasn’t a *_ _challenge*_ _, and I needed a fucking challenge, didn’t I? Needing to prove that I was cleverer than anyone else. And in so doing, made the stupidest mistake of my life. God, I’m a twat._

_I don’t deserve you, Sebastian, I really don’t. I don’t know what makes you so incredibly dedicated to me. But thank fuck that you are. Thank fuck._

_I force my eyes open because I need to see you and you look so precious and vulnerable and hot and lovable and raw and I just want to hold you and protect you from anything that might ever hurt you, but *_ _I*_ _am the motherfucker most likely to hurt you but I won’t, Sebastian, never again, I love you so fucking much._

 _And you feel *so good*_ _. It’s getting too much. I reach up with one hand, stroking your hair, your face, moving my other hand to your hip because it’s too intense, “Just sit still for a bit, please, just let me feel you...”_

 _And you sit on me, and I feel you all around me, and I see your loving aching gaze, and I don’t think I’ve ever... *_ _felt*_ _so much._

 

 

It took so long for us to get to this point - physically, emotionally, just every fucking level of my being, Jim - and now you want me to stop? I close my eyes, and I'm so intoxicated by your closeness, I realize I'm sighing over and over.

I look down at you and chuckle. "We're just- I don't even know the word for what we are..."

Then I see the look in your eyes, and it takes me a moment to breathe again.

I sigh again, and move your hair off your forehead. I smile at you, eyes unfocused. "Just... let me know when I can move again. I'm not sure how long I can keep from riding that gorgeous cock when you feel so – fucking - good-" I breathe, struggling to stay still.

 

_“I’m sorry... it’s just... so fucking intense...” I groan, holding on to you for dear life. “I haven’t... had sex in ages... not since you...”_

 

 

"Neither have I..." I pant, grasping your shoulders. "Not since _you_ -"

 

 

 _“You... what?! YOU?!” This.. I must have misheard. Misunderstood. Sebastian Moran can’t go two days without sex. You shagged half the Commonwealth before we got together. You were insatiable *_ _after*_ _we got together. You... oh my god. I was jealous, yes, but... hearing this is worse. It’s so much worse. I really completely broke you._

 

 

You seem strangely alarmed and upset by this information. My brow furrows. "You were fucking dead... What did you think, I was out _shagging_ every night?" I look at you, perplexed. And then, I feel something rising from a deep, dark place, and my heart thuds in my chest. _NoNoNo_ , I protest silently. And a black wave of anger lashes through me, and I go completely still.

 

_"I... no... well..." What had I thought? Well, yes. I kind of assumed that when I was out of the picture it would be like before I was in the picture, when you were out shagging every night. Or fighting. Or drinking. Or any combination of the above. Enjoying your newfound power, ruling the Empire. And... now you look angry. Oh. Why? Well I wasn't to know, was I!?_

_... *_ _No Jim. You didn't THINK, did you*._ _Fuck._

_"Seb... oh god Seb... I'm... so sorry. I didn't have a fucking clue. Fuck. You're... fuck."_

 

 

"Yeah, you're a real fucking genius..." I mutter. Then I look at you, and guilt sweeps away my anger. I slowly breathe out the blackness that had seeped into me - there will be time to explore that later, and I don't envy you a bit. But for now, I place my hand against your face. "Can we just- process all this later? Since we're going to be talking all day, anyway? I really, _really_ need to be with you right now..." And I put my hands on either side of your head, and start to ride you slowly...

 

 

 _Oh... *_ _fuck*_ _, yes, Sebastian, fuck, that feels... oh god. Yeah, sure, whatever, talk later, it's... you *_ _really*_ _had no one else?! Oh my god Sebastian, you are... I... fuck, I love you so much. How did I not realize this? How incredible is this, it's... I've never had sex with someone I'm in love with. Well. Not consciously. It's just... it makes everything so much more intense. I've just... all my life I've been searching for something, *_ _anything*_ _, just to excite me, to make me feel alive, anything to escape the crushing boredom of the world, and *_ _all I needed to do*_ _was let myself fall in love? And actually *_ _admit*_ _it, admit that there are *_ _feelings*_ _attached to this intercourse that go beyond the mere physical? Fuck, I've been depriving myself of so much. This is fucking *_ _exquisite*_ _. You. Your face. Your expression. Your hands. Sebastian. My Sebastian. Surrounding my cock, moving around me, physical and emotional sensations blending into a fucking sublime cocktail of sensation that is unlike anything. God. Sebastian. You are divine._

 

 

I was so worried you were going to stop out of guilt... and I don't know how I would have handled that, after all this insane build-up... But you're definitely into it now. My eyes are devouring you - I've never seen this expression on your face before. I never could have _dreamed_ this expression on your face before... you said you loved me, and I believe you... but this- You're looking so madly, deeply in love - it's making me _ache_... Maybe it would be cause for concern if I stopped to think about how this is going to affect your brain chemistry, but right now all I know is I'm the object of Your Love, and I don't want this experience to end - _ever_.

I realize I'm moving faster against you, and it's feeling _so_ fucking good - but there's just one thing missing - I reach down, take your hand and wrap it around my cock.

 

 

 _Your cock, oh yes, your cock, so rock hard, so sensitive, so beautiful - mine... I want you inside me as well but that's anatomically impossible. So I stroke you with my hand, soft at first, almost reverentially, but I know what you like, I know it so well, every inch of it, and soon I'm on familiar ground. Not that familiar - I am a selfish bastard and often couldn't be asked to give a reacharound, leaving you to take care of yourself, or even telling you to leave it because, well, that is kind of hot, but over the years I've had enough experience with your cock to know what pressure you like, what rhythm, and your face, your moans, and the way it hardens even more, tell me I've got it right. You look at me in awe, ache, adoration, and I guess I look at you the same way. Good grief. We really are two teenagers in love. Well, fuck it. I've never been in love before, and there's absolutely no reason I have to act like a grownup. I did enough of that in my teenage years. My right hand presses against your knee, careful to keep you on the counter, as you're moving more and more recklessly and fuck, did *_ _anything* *ever*_ _feel so breathtakingly *_ _good*_ _!?_

 

 

So _fucking_ good. I'm not going to last much longer... as soon as I felt your hand on my cock, I was done for. The panting and moaning are increasing in frequency and volume. Every time I look down at your face, and see your eyes fluttering open and shut, and hear the most delicious noises escape your lips, the intensity mounts until I'm almost delirious. Seeing you like this, letting go of your need to control, and just losing yourself to sensation - seeing you look up at me with such longing - is like watching my most deeply buried secret fantasy come tearing up out of the ground, and- well, fucking me into a frenzied state on the kitchen counter. Your hand pressing my knee feels protective, cautioning... _possessive_ \- and if your hand on my knee feels like it's claiming ownership of me, I can only imagine what will happen when you inevitably go darkside and move to fasten the leash around my neck with a snap. And it's this thought that finally undoes me... I look into your feverish eyes, and I _moan_ , "I'm so fucking close, baby- I want to come- please, Jim- make me come…”

 

 

 _I'm getting close, it's been *_ _so long*_ _and you are *_ _so incredible*_ _and my body is almost in pain with all the feelings I'm trying to process, not the least of which is this intense sensation in my cock, you have *_ _never*_ _felt so good, so tight, so fucking powerful. I feel my balls contracting, my entire being preparing to lose itself into you. You. Your face is contracted with ecstasy, you look like you are in agony, the two are so close, but I know the subtle differences in your expression, the eyes screwed shut but not *_ _quite*_ _as tight, the mouth open in a silent scream but the corners slightly higher than if I were torturing you. I know your face so well, I can read its expressions so well, I know what you're about to say before you say it, you are *_ _so*_ _close and begging me to come, oh god, that brings back memories, and your voice, that voice that I missed so much - all awareness in my body concentrates just below my cock, makes its way upward in a path of euphoria leaving my body, and I pour my self into you, everything I am, for you, you could kill me now and I wouldn't resist, Sebastian - my Sebastian. Always my Sebastian._

_I arch my neck, wrench my head backward, groan, as I'm forcing my hand to keep going, keep going on your cock, simultaneous orgasm would be good and oh god, yes, I know that face, I know that face so well, I love that face, god, I love you, Sebastian, we are going to rule the world, with you by my side I am invincible._

 

 

I'm rocking against you, as you stroke my cock. _Fuck_ , it feels like being sucked up into heaven from the depths of hell, but all this build-up, it's too much, Christ, I feel like I'm going to _lose_ it, and I'm not the only one... I've never seen you like this, you almost look like a stranger, still quintessentially Jim but this time you're _mine_...

You look so much younger without the mask, Jim...

Your hair is a wreck, you're sweating and flushed, and you seem So Vulnerable, it pulls at my heart, I just want to pull out my own heart and offer it to you, and now we're approaching journey's end, you're arching, straining, groaning, and it's so _HOT_ , and your hand never stops, stroking hard now, stroking so fucking hard, _yes_ , Jim, that's how I like it, you haven't forgotten, you haven't forgotten any of it, only now - now- how did this happen, after all this time, you love me, do you really love me, are you really mine, oh god Jim, _love_ me, oh _god_ , I fucking love you, I fucking love you, I _fucking love_ \- oh god, you're coming inside me, and holy FUCK, the spasms inside me, I'm throbbing in your hand, and I'm coming _so hard_ , I'm arching, and spurting onto your hand, and it's so hard to not just collapse on you, and I brace myself against you, panting hard, my muscles trembling... and I dimly realize we're sweaty and the counter is oily, and as much as I don't want to remove your cock from my arse (ever), I slowly move off it so I can slide down carefully, and lay down, just lay my head down against your chest, and slide my arms around you, and I'm home, and if you'll have me, that's where I'll stay until the end of time.

 

_Yessss, come to daddy, who is the best lover in the world, that's right, it's me, and you, James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran, fucking giants, I feel on top of the world as I feel you coming over my chest a moment after my own orgasm starts, and your *_ _face*_ _, it really is the most beautiful sight ever, contorted with pleasure, almost insensate, and I know I must look the same, fuck, this was a great idea, Sebastian, oh god Sebastian..._

 _I slowly realize that you are moving, sliding off me (nooooo, don't go, Sebastian), lying down beside me, putting your head on my chest, holding me in your arms like you are never ever going to let me go again, which is great, because I'm not going anywhere. My body is completely drained, useless; and my mind isn't in much better condition. The orgasm didn't do anything to lessen the feelings though, I still feel like my heart is five sizes too big for my chest and my stomach is trying to do backflips over it. I look at your face looking up at me and my entire torso seems to shrink at the same time as the organs inside it grow larger. The physiological effects of this sentiment are really most extraordinary. I would be fascinated if my brain weren't currently occupied with trying to process how *_ _incredibly beautiful*_ _you are, how your eyes are like fucking *_ _sapphires*_ _, your hair like *_ _spun gold*_ _, and fucking *_ _Shakespeare sonnets*_ _spring unbidden to mind. This is really getting silly. I am a 36-year-old criminal mastermind. A psychopath. A ruthless killer. I am most certainly *_ _not_ _* someone who goes quoting fucking poetry at their fucking lover on a fucking kitchen counter. Good grief. I have been taken over by the ghost of a teenage girl. I'm completely and utterly smitten with my own fucking sniper. Great. Trust me to fall in love after two and a half years of fucking and one year of death. Me, who swore off sentiment before I had hair on my balls. Oh well. At least it's mutual. You look like a bloody storybook Prince Charming looking into the princess's eyes._

_Careful Moriarty. Side effects of overproduction of dopamine and norepinephrine are akin to cocaine usage - you're likely to feel euphoric and overconfident, as well as unreasonably desperate. Keep your cingulate gyrus under control and try to think logically. Also, get off this slippery counter before you both fall to your deaths. Are my limbs capable of moving again? I think so... I slowly move my legs to dangle off the counter, as I push us up with my right arm. We move awkwardly, because the counter is slippery and somehow it's essential that you don't move your arms from around me. We both know this._

 

 

I feel like I've been very far away in a land that's just you - your eyes, your face, your lips, your cock- so when I find myself being pushed up to a sitting position, it's completely disorienting. _What? Why are we moving?_ Oh, right - we're on the fucking counter. My arms are still around you, and I draw the line at moving them. Looking down, I blink at the shards of glass and china on the floor.

 

"Fuck's sake... whose brilliant idea was this?" I grumble, then catch your eye. "Yeah, OK. I plead temporary insanity..." I nudge you with my shoulder. "Charge me with aggravated assault towards the china later if you want. For now, can we just... go lie down?" I could spend the next week just wrapped around you, feeling your skin against mine, but I'm not sure what you have in mind to do next. I look at you closely, and I'm fully hit with how much your expression has changed in the space of one spectacular fuck on the kitchen counter. _Oh, Jim_... my breath catches in my throat.

 

_Lie down sounds good. Catch our breath a bit in a space that is not one wrong move away from either or both of us hurtling towards shards of glass. I look up at you to discuss how we're going to negotiate the kitchen floor minefield, and see you look at me like you've seen a ghost. An utterly beloved and cherished ghost, but still. Oh. I must look... different then. Yes. I'm not wearing a mask, and my face is quite expressive, so... I probably look like a loved-up teenager. Which is not a face you'd have seen before, no. I don't think anyone has. I must look in the mirror if I get the chance._

_Anyway._

_We move a bit to the right, where there is less broken crockery, and get down. We move together, walk through the kitchen together, to our old bedroom together. The bed is made, but there's dust on the pillows. You pick them up, shake them, turn them over, turn up the duvet. I move into the bed, reach out my hands. You take them, slide into the bed with me, wrap your arms around me. We lie like that, holding each other close, not speaking. Letting our minds and bodies come down a little. I want a cigarette, our post-coital ritual, but I also don't want to let you go, so I'll wait. For now, I just breathe in your scent, your fresh sweat, your semen on my chest, and it's the best thing I've ever smelled, of bloody *_ _course*_ _, the pheromones got me good. I'm a textbook example of an infatuated teenager. It would be funny if it weren't so excruciating._

 

 

It's so strange being back in this bedroom again... lying naked in bed with you. Holding you like I've always wanted to. I think of all the times I had crept past the door, as if there were a ghost on the other side, waiting to come screaming out at me. I let out a long breath. The year of hell is officially over, but I have no idea how to describe where we are now.  
I look over at you, and you seem - halfway between bliss and freaking the fuck out. Is there a word for that? There should be. Wherever we are, it's time to take some of this fucking pressure off. I feel like we'll need to do a lot of this in the coming days if we're going to avoid tumbling into a mutual meltdown.

I roll over onto my elbows, and squeeze your arm. "Be right back.." I say, all nonchalance. I roll out of bed and look back at you for a moment, knowing how magnificent my naked body looks to you by the way you stare. Then I arch an eyebrow and walk out.

 

_Wait - what?! You're going? Away? All casual like that?! You - can't - I panic, I fucking *_ _panic*_ _at seeing you walk away, and it's all I can do not to show it. Fuck's sake Moriarty, let the guy take a leak. He's not going to run off. It's the dopamine addiction in your nucleus accumbens - it's all chemistry. Keep it under control, dammit. Just relax, catch your breath - get that fag you wanted. I lean over the side of the bed, but of course your trousers aren't in here. Maybe in the bedside cabinet, but they'd be a year old and dry as bone dust. Just hope Sebastian comes back with some._

_Right. Breathe. Relax. Get your mind working again - it's completely shattered at the moment due to the hormones. Deep breaths. Get into your mind. Iron it out - it's all aflutter. Icy spark in the centre of the brain. Let it expand, until it encases the entire brain. Coolness. Calm. Only cold collected reason. Ordered breathing. That's better. I'm starting to feel a bit more in control of myself. Goodness, that's a heady cocktail of hormones you're producing there, Moriarty. Don't let it take over your brain. It's all nice and fun, this being in love, but don't go crazy._

_Even I giggle at that._

 

 

I'm walking down the hall, wondering where the hell I left my cigarettes - trying to retrace my steps through the craziest eighteen hours of my life... and that's saying _a lot_. Jesus, when was the last time I smoked? No wonder I'm on edge... I head to the spare room where I've been sleeping, and find an almost-empty pack on the bedside table. I grab it along with an empty ashtray and lighter, and notice a half-empty bottle of whisky on the floor. _Definitely_. I swipe it up, and stalk back towards the bedroom.

I enter the room, swigging from the bottle. Throw the ashtray on the bed. Stand naked in the middle of the room, feeling your eyes on me as I light a cigarette - then I take a long, lusty drag, and breathe out smoke staring at you lazily. Finally, I walk over to your side of the bed, climb in and straddle you - and silently I hand you the lit cigarette and bottle of whisky.

 

_I'm a lot calmer as you walk into the room - and I fucking need it, because you are all aswagger, your stunning naked body moving with the measured grace of your big cat namesake, drinking from a bottle of whiskey. You throw an ashtray at the bed, light a cigarette, giving me the most cocky look I've ever witnessed, suck it lasciviously and languorously breathe out the smoke in my direction. My mouth nearly falls open - you look HOT, the embodiment of the bad boy archetype, and I've always had a thing for bad boys; but also - the contrast between this guy and the smitten puppy that was in bed with me earlier could hardly be greater._

_Is this what you're like when you're not kept on a leash? No wonder half the Commonwealth ended up dropping their pants or panties for you. I'm fascinated - so many sides of you that I've hardly explored. I'm pretty sure I'd like to get to know this maverick better._

_You straddle me and hand me the cigarette and the whiskey, and I take both. I need them now. I take a deep drag, blessed smoke in my lungs, and take a big draught of the whiskey. They help to make my mind feel calmer, more ordered, though narrower. I raise a crooked half-smile at you - looks like we both got a bit of our old self-control back, which is a relief. One needs some measure of ratio to be able to discuss feelings._

_"Welcome back, Colonel Moran."_

 

 

"A pleasure to be back, Mr Moriarty, sir..." I say, swiping the cigarette from your fingers. I take a deep drag, squinting down at you through the smoke. Fuck... By the look on your face, things just heated up considerably. I had only meant to shake us out of our common angst by reminding us both that nobody was fucking trapped, we were here because we wanted to be... But something has been moving through me that feels beyond my control. _Now what, Moran..._

"So, Mr Moriarty... How do you see the rest of the day proceeding?" I take a belt from the bottle and swoop down to kiss you - I let some of the whisky in my mouth pour past your lips, and I lap it up with my tongue.

 

 

_Mmmm... whiskey and Seb, a delicious combination; an extra smokiness added to the whiskey by the cigarette, which is good, because it's that cheap gutrot you like, come on Seb, it's not like you can't afford a decent single malt. You just don't appreciate the finer things in life. It's a miracle you ever fell for me._

_How do I see the day proceeding? Well, if you don't stop this soon, in a hedonistic bacchanal to rival the ones of when you first moved in. Which is not what I had planned, and damn it, Moran, I will instil some bloody discipline back in this household. But do keep rebelling - it's quite alluring._

_"Well, Colonel," I purr when I get my mouth back, "I believe I... we said we were going to talk. And I appreciate the alcohol as a social disinhibitor, but I do believe your unconventional method of distributing it may be a shade distracting. So why don't we have a shower, get glasses like civilized people, get dressed, and retire to the living room, so we have a chance of actually talking for a bit rather than descending into a mad orgy of alcohol and sex? We can always do that later. We have all our life to catch up."_

 

 

I watch you calculating and assessing, despite being drawn in by my overtly suggestive demeanour. Perfect. Another long drag off the cigarette, and I blow smoke at you as you once again lay down the law. _It's good to have you back, Jim..._ It's hard not to grin. Instead I heave a sigh and throw you a good hard manly pout.

"All business. Fine. We'll do as you say. But how you plan to get out of that shower without it descending into a mad orgy, I have no idea...Are you really so disciplined in this moment?" I place the cigarette between your lips, and watch as you draw in a breath.

 

 

_"Good grief Moran, we've literally just stopped fucking minutes ago. What are you on?" I ask, blowing the smoke in your face, seeing you breathe it in. "You know I don't approve of stimulants. And I'm flattered that you consider me so irresistible, but I can't help but suspect that at least part of your horniness is caused by a, perhaps subconscious, reluctance to get round to actually talking about feelings, instead preferring to revert to well-known and comfortable territory. I'm afraid I didn't get this far in life by avoiding unpleasant tasks. And it won't be that unpleasant - just unfamiliar. You can do this, soldier."_

_I stroke your face, not sexual, just gentle, friendly. I know this must be difficult for you - it's difficult for me, but I was always the talker of the two of us. You were more the strong silent type. I don't blame you - but you will do this. For us._

 

 

Well. Someone just got put in his place...

I don't want you to feel manipulated, so I just raise my eyebrows and stub out the cigarette. "Can't blame a guy for trying..." I sigh, and climb off you.

When I lose contact with you, I begrudgingly find myself thinking about what you said. _God..._ do you have me pegged, Jim...

 _You can do this, soldier._ I shiver at the memory of your hand stroking my face.

"Yeah... You're probably right. About all of it... I'll just- tone it the fuck down, shall I?... until it's time for that mad orgy?" I say, the corner of my mouth turning up wryly. "So... I could use a shower and a talk, how 'bout you?" I ask in a quiet voice, and reach out a hand.

 

 

_“Yeah. Definitely. You’re bloody hot Sebastian, don’t get me wrong, but business before pleasure. And your sanity is my business. What’s left of it, anyway,” I smile wryly. “And when we’ve sorted stuff out, we will have mad orgies, don’t you worry.”_

_I actually have some ideas on those, but I really mustn’t encourage you._

_I take your proffered hand and we get into the shower, slowly washing each other, gently, tenderly. I grab your horrible shampoo and wash your hair, then let you return the favour. You threw mine out. Of course you did. Why keep a dead man’s shampoo? I wonder how long it took you. How hard it was. Shit, it’s so natural to be back, so easy to forget that not even 24 hours ago you were fucking suicidal on the rooftop and I was still dead._

_Yeah, we really need that talk. Stop looking at me like that. I turn off the water, step out of the shower and towel myself dry. Dress in sweatpants and a t-shirt, go to the living room._

_This is it._


	7. Are You Broken like Me?

I trail after you towards the living room, carrying the whisky bottle. I stop in the kitchen, look at the mess of broken china, and sigh. Choosing to ignore it, I grab two whisky glasses and make a beeline for you. I throw myself on the sofa next to you, pour us each half a glass, and wordlessly hand you one. Then I clink my glass to yours. "Sláinte," I say quietly, throw my whisky back, and pour myself another. I look up to see you watching me, arching your goddamn eyebrow, and I roll my eyes.

"I know... I know!" I put the glass down grudgingly, run my hands through my hair, and then put my hands over my face. "Jesus Christ, Jim - I don't know how to do this..." I look up at you, wide-eyed. "How the fuck do people do this?? I'd rather take a bullet... Do you want to just shoot me, and I'll tell you how I feel about it?" I throw myself back against the sofa, letting my head sink into the cushions. "'Cos I've got no fucking idea where to start... Can you start? Please??" I lean forward, grab the glass, and down my whisky. "And wouldn't this be easier if we were both fucking drunk? I'm _not_ trying to be funny... I think it would really help!" I eye the bottle, and look back to you, hopefully.

 

_“I don’t usually get drunk. But you do what you need. And yes, I can start._

_So. I faked my death. It was the only way to get Holmes to commit suicide. He didn’t though. Bastard faked it too. Anyway. I didn’t realize at the time. I left the country that same night, stayed in Tuscany._  
_But that’s not what matters to you. What matters is why I didn’t let you know.”_  
_My throat clenches, and I do take a big sip of my whiskey._  
_“I’ve.... been doing quite a bit of soul searching last night and today. And fuck, telling you all this... is the second hardest thing I’ve ever done. The hardest was admitting it to myself.” Another sip. I look at you; you top my glass up without comment._

_“I’m a psychopath. Diagnosed by reliable psychiatrists. It was fine with me - it explains why I never felt anything. But that’s not entirely true. I did have feelings when I was a child. But not after. It was better, not feeling._

_... you know I don’t feel pain. Well, I do, but I don’t care about it as much as everyone else seems to. Which again, was welcome._

_It meant I could use my mind to reason without distraction by sentiment. Which worked well. It also meant I could use my body as a tool without worrying about hurting it, which also served me well._  
_However._  
_It also meant that I always was looking for... something. Some stimulation, some way to finally *feel* something. Mostly, I looked for games - intellectual challenges. They gave me some sort of excitement. But it became so boring. It was all just so easy. Holmes offered the most interesting challenge ever, which is why I got obsessed with him, *had* to win the game."_  
_I don't look at you. Talking about it now, it seems so petty, so dumb._  
_"I... didn't feel other things. Never. But. I realize *now*, in hindsight, that the reason for that was that I never *allowed* myself to feel. Because feelings were dangerous. A weakness._  
_And... I had to work really hard not to feel anything for you. You were... convenient, I told myself. Best to keep him close, he's your best fighter, and a great shag. I kept making excuses for myself on why I needed to have you with me, always. And I allowed myself to have *fun* with you. But never to get attached. Because that is a weakness. And I never allowed myself to see attachment in *_ _you*_ _, because... it was easier if neither of us had *_ _feelings*_ _._  
_Looking back, of course... I see that..."_  
_Tears. Let them come. Let them fall into the whiskey._

_"I loved you. I fell for you, quite early on - you were just so hot, so talented, such fun to be with, so fascinating... But of course that would not do. I couldn't. So I blocked it. Like I blocked physical sensations. It was... frighteningly easy, to fool myself. And if anything came through, I could explain it away. If I panicked because you got hurt, or didn't come back in time from a mission - well, I was to lose my best man, in who I'd invested so much, makes sense, doesn't it? Your utter devotion to me - well, of course, they all want to be my favourite.  
So, so stupid. I can't believe how I lied to myself all those years. And to you. And I'm.... so very sorry."_

 

 

As I listen to you, the strangest thing is happening...

It's like missing puzzle pieces are dropping from the sky - why you acted the way you did. Why _I_ acted the way I did. Even how you could be so cruel as to make me think you. Were. Fucking. Dead.  
I lower my head down and stare at the floor... I wasn't ready for these pieces to snap into place, and have the whole picture leap into view - I don't _want_ to forgive you. I just want to hate you... _hurt_ you, for what you did. I feel that black desire wedged into my heart, burning endlessly, like a flaming tar pit.  
But confessions keep coming hard and fast, and I don't know what to react to first.  
Tears are rolling down your face.  
You loved me early on?  
Jim??  
_I'm... so very sorry._

It's shocking to hear you say it, and it's so moving- I want to pull you into an embrace that lasts for days... a lifetime. But _sorry_ doesn't make up for a single day of what I went through, believing you dead.  
I have no idea what to say...  
I want to hold you down and scream into your face.  
I want to storm out and never return.  
I want to fight you until we're bloody. and then fuck you raw.  
I want to fold you in my arms and kiss your face over and over.  
I do none of those things.  
In this in-between place,  
this patch of limbo we find ourselves stranded in,  
I do something else.  
I unscrew the lid from the bottle, and pour myself another shot.

I throw back the shot of whisky.

And I let the words escape that have been beating furiously within my throat, throughout my gut, and against my heart.

"I was going to kill myself. On the rooftop. Every day. But I felt like I had to finish all your instructions before I could leave this world - be your perfect soldier 'til the end. And by the time I was done, it was close enough to your one-year anniversary, that I thought you would appreciate the symmetry... the drama. Only I'm realizing now... I didn't just plan to kill myself because my lover died. And I didn't wait around for years while you ignored me, played with me like a toy, and took me for granted, because my love was so fucking pure and true. I chose the ultimate unattainable scary fucker to devote my entire existence to because I was a shell. I did love you - madly. Completely. But I was lost... and I was empty inside. A broken toy fucking soldier... And I couldn't face that again when you died. I had a gun in my mouth more times than I could count. But I didn't realize I was already dead inside - not when you died, but years before that."

I slosh out some more whisky, and the bottle _clinks_ against the glass. I throw back the shot, wipe my mouth and stare into space.

"Well, I guess I don't have my fucking illusions to cling to anymore..." I cover my eyes with my hands, and the bottle falls heavily to the floor. "What do you do when all that's left is the truth, Jim? Huh? Because the truth is a hideous fucking monster and I _never_ wanted to go near it. And here I am trapped in its lair, and it's got me by the throat, and it makes me want to destroy things and _hurt_ you... you might not be the real cause of my suffering, but, how do I forget the last year??" My face convulses, but there are no tears. I drop to the floor, and kneel in front of you, head down. "How can I be submissive when I want to wrap my hands around your throat? But how can I be with you, and not _want_ to be completely owned by you?" I cover my mouth, and my eyes are squeezing against the tears filling them, and falling down my face. "When that's all I fucking want, all I've ever wanted, and _I don't know how to let myself anymore_?" I say, hoarsely. I find myself throwing my arms around your waist, and dropping my head in your lap. "I don't know how to find the way home, Jim..." I whisper raggedly. "How will we ever get home...?"

 

 

 _Your words tear through me like red hot scalpels, each one of them gouging my heart. Oh god. Oh Sebastian. Here I was thinking you were the sane one. I want to cry, hold you in my arms, but I can’t; if I show you how affected I am by your words you’ll clam up, and that’s the last thing I want you to do. Keep calm Moriarty._  
_‘I was already dead inside – years before that’_  
_Fuck. What happened to you, Sebastian. What happened to the smiling little boy in the pictures in your file… No, don’t think about that just yet._

 _I want to talk, but can’t. There’s a massive lump in my throat and if I open it up I’ll start sobbing. Because there is this great big soldier crying in my lap about how he’s lost the way home; and it’s all my fault._  
_No stop it Jim. He was lost before you came along. He might well have been dead if you hadn’t picked him off the street. You did give him purpose. It’s just a matter of doing that again. And better._  
_My mind races, tries to analyse, predict, create scenarios, reject them, assign probabilities. A potential raises itself – I should discuss with you. I need your input. And I need to be very careful. You’re a live grenade at the moment – one false move and you’ll tear us both apart._  
_I stroke your hair, kiss the top of your head, stroke your cheeks, feel the tears._

_“Oh Sebastian. Are you broken like me?”_

_You look up at me, and I literally feel my heart breaking at the expression on your face; I thought it was just a phrase, but it’s being torn in two by cruel hands inside my chest. I block it – your heart can come later, Moriarty, it’s Sebastian you need to take care of now, you need to be the strong one, keep it together – and somehow manage to keep talking. “I’m here. I’m here and I will never let you fall again. We’ll sort this out Seb. I’ll do everything I can. And you know that’s a lot. You’re not alone. I love you. I promise I’ll do anything._

_I don’t know what happened to make you into that empty shell. And… I don’t think we should get into that right now, unless you want to, because you’re already so raw, and your acute problem is, well, me._

_I think, Sebastian, that if you’d have been born in Afghanistan, you’d have made an excellent islamist radical. Don’t look like that. I have a theory, and I need to hear your opinion on it. It may well be wrong._

_You had a very promising start in life – rich parents, excellent education, top of the class, but you threw all that away to go shoot people. I assumed it was just an adrenaline junkie danger addiction type of thing – but it was more than that. Because the army didn’t give you what you needed. You craved orders, but the orders they gave you were stupid, and you hate stupidity. So you did your own thing, and the army hates *_ _that*_ _. Cue dismissal. Then you completely deteriorated, till I came to pick you up._

 _And I gave your life purpose. I was your fucking *_ _higher power*_ _. You, Sebastian, are a man who’s prone to worship – and instead of god, you found the devil. But that was alright, because you don’t have a moral compass – but you revere power and intelligence. I gave orders that were not stupid but brilliant. And you got to live out your danger addiction following them. And, like those Christian mystics who find ecstasy in the mortification of the flesh, you loved suffering to prove your devotion to me. The more I hurt you, the more I put you in dangerous situations, the more you adored me._

_Then I made a mistake. I died. I committed suicide for no good reason. I showed myself to be weak and fallible. And you were left all alone with no reason to live. You were betrayed by the very centre of your universe. Of course you were, are, livid._

_… Does any of that make sense? Or am I completely on the wrong track?”_

 

 

I blink up at you.

You're using your formidable brain to try to fix this... but I don't know if this can be fixed, Jim...

I heave a sigh.

"Are you on the wrong track?" I ask hoarsely. "I think you already _know_ the answers to all your questions. As for _my_ opinion... Are you god and the devil rolled into one package for me? Were you the centre of my universe and my higher power until you disappeared on me?"

My arms are still around your waist, and I squeeze tighter.

"Fuck - sure. Yeah... And _fuck_ you for doing it, psycho or not," I snap, and lay my head down on your lap again. I close my eyes, and breathe in deeply.

"What good does it do me now," I mutter, trying not to sniffle.

"And what good does it do _you_ to have a broken assassin on the payroll, and in your bed? A broken -" I search for the right word (boyfriend? lover? partner?), and come up empty. It never mattered to me before (except deep down where it counted). "What are we, Jim? Is there a word for what we are to each other?"

 

 

_I breathe out, not quite a snort._

_“There are many words for what we are Sebastian, and few of them nice. Symbiotic criminal psychopaths is such a mouthful.”_

_I know what you mean though. I know what *_ _I*_ _need. Is it what you need?_

_I pick up one of your knives from the table._

_It’s sharp - of course it is. You may let yourself go to shit but you’ll take care of your weapons._

_I pull off your t-shirt, put the tip of the knife against your heart._

_“Do you know why wedding bands are worn on the fourth finger?”_

 

One moment I'm crying and cursing you out, with my head in your lap... and the next, I've got a knife to my heart. It must be Tuesday in the Moriarty-Moran household....

Hm... I added my name.

But I don't have time to enjoy the odd little glow that leaps in my heart, because at this moment there are more pressing concerns - i.e. the knife which is gently but firmly pressing into my flesh.

My eyes lock onto yours.  
This is familiar territory - my psycho lover and a knife. Not knowing what the fuck you're going to do next. That feeling of dread and excitement, making me start to go hard - with a knife at my heart. Oh, yeah - I'm the poster boy for mental health.

I shake my head, and smile faintly. We are who we are... right, Jim?

"Wedding bands?" I ask, perplexed. "I don't know... Something about... the vein in the fourth finger leading to the heart...? Will you be filling me in on the relevance... before you use that on me, or after?"

A lazy smirk surfaces to my lips, but my grip tightening on your waist is anything but playful.

 

 

_“Well remembered. I prefer a more direct route.” I press and pull and the blade pierces the skin, making a trickle of blood well up. I move the knife down,_

_“Do you, Sebastian Patrick Moran, take me, James Isaac Moriarty, to be your unlawfully wedded whatever we are, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer and even richer, in sickness and perversity, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us part?”_

_You can’t see what the knife carves as you are staring at my face. I assume you gather. Only the J and M. I don’t like the Isaac._

 

 

I didn't expect the knife, but once it was out, I knew I was going to bleed. And I welcomed it - I never thought I'd bleed at your hands again.

The blade pierces flesh, and I have to struggle not to moan - it feels so good to be at the sharp end, at last.

I definitely did _not_ expect the words that come out of your mouth next...

‘Do you, Sebastian Patrick Moran, take me, James Isaac Moriarty, to be your unlawfully wedded whatever we are...’

What? _What_??

‘...to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer and even richer...’

My mouth has dropped open. The words are blurring into each other, and I'm just looking at you blankly, trying to understand what's happening. Are you trying to be _funny_? 'Cos it's _not_ fucking funny, Jim...

‘...in sickness and perversity, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us part?’

I'm staring at you hard - dimly realizing what's being carved over my heart. Shit - you're _not_ joking...

If I thought hearing _I love you_ from your lips was the essence of cognitive dissonance, I was so bloody wrong...

It's said that at the moment of death, your life flashes before your eyes. Clichéd as fuck, but it happens to be true - I've been at the point of near-death often enough, first with the army, and then being the lover and right-hand man of James Moriarty, that eventually it became almost like settling in to watch a short film.

Well, this moment appears to be a death of sorts for Sebastian Moran, because the film is cueing up - but nothing could have prepared me for it this time - nothing. Every goddamned thing in my life seemed to have led me to this moment - me, on my knees, tears drying on my cheeks, you finishing up your precise knife-work on my flesh, and then staring back at me - looking pleased, and... nervous?  
I let out a long sigh. "Considering I haven't responded, you were pretty quick to carve your initials into me... I guess some things never change. James Fucking Moriarty..." I shake my head at you. A smirk hovers on my lips.

 

 

_"Well, it'll give you something to remember me by. And boast to other lovers - yeah, I rejected James Moriarty - and lived."_

_I finish up the carving; it looks absolutely superb; you, marked with my initials, for ever. I have to suppress the urge to kiss it, lick it, taste your blood, nectar of the gods..._

_"I mean it. You can walk away, and I won't stop you. The bit about death do us part - that's no joke. You're very likely to perish if you stay with me; you know that. But not by my hand. Not any more. So if you think that you have a chance of a decent life out there, maybe find something else worth worshipping, something... less lethal, less insane... just walk away and I'll let you."_

_I twist the knife in my hands._

_"Maybe better take on a false identity though. In case I get a bout of jealousy. Anyway, I know I'm a drama queen, but... I'll live if you leave."_

_*No you won't. You'll think up some hare-brained plan to take out both Holmeses and you'll die for real - or worse.*  
_ _Shut up. That shouldn't be any of Seb's concern._

_"So, yeah. You can leave. I won't hold it against you. You've done... more than anyone has ever done for me. You deserve to retire with full honours. I'll give you a shining reference and a few million to get you started."_

_I look into your face, which still doesn't show anything but utter bafflement._

_"Or... you could reciprocate."_

_I hold out the knife to you, take off my shirt._

Something to remember you by? What the _fuck_ , Jim? Because I didn't respond in 2 seconds?

A monologue follows... I want to cover your mouth and shout at you to stop talking, but it's like a train wreck... Impossible to not watch as it happens.

Finally you're taking off your shirt and holding the knife out to me. Thank God...  
I look from the knife to you. "You little shit... Give someone a second to recover, will you? It's not every day the love of your life asks you to be _his_ for fucking ever..."

I grab the knife from you. And then I take your hand and forcefully pull you down onto the floor with me. Now we're both on our knees, and I have my hand on your heart. I hold up the blade, and look at you intently.

"Not that I don't appreciate everything you said... but what the fuck do you think I'm going to do with a safe life or _other lovers_?? Jesus Christ..." I start carving S and M over your heart.

"This is the end game, Jim - there is no fucking life for me if you're not in it. I meant it when I said it's not even a question for me - but if you really need an answer, then yes, I fucking do. So if we can just stop with the 'oh, you can leave if you want' 'no, you leave if you need to', that would be brilliant. Enough with the coyness... no one's fucking going anywhere."

I glower at you for a second, but when I see your face, my eyes soften. I put down the knife, and I grab your hands - I place your hands and mine on our hearts.

"I guess it's official... We're _whatever we are_ \- I'm yours and you're-" my breath catches in my throat, "...mine."

 

 

_‘love of your life’_

_Wait what? Really? Well yes what did you think Moriarty... but still... hearing you say that... you don't say such things._

_Well. You also don't get proposed to in weird improvised blood-soaked ceremonies. It's not a typical day, is it._

_‘This is the end game, Jim - there is no fucking life for me if you're not in it.’_

_Oh thank fuck. Thank fuck thank fuck thank fuck._

_Damn, that was one of your less-well-timed impulses, Moriarty. And it's not even 24 hours since I came back. Well. I do hope things get less eventful soon. This is getting silly even for our standards._

_You start cutting and god, that feels delicious, the pain a delight because it means that you are getting closer to my heart; go ahead Sebastian, carve through my rib cage, it's desperately trying to break out and get to you anyway._

_‘yes, I fucking do’_

_Well. Not the traditional answer, but definitely a Moran answer._

_You put my hand on your heart, your hand on mine, and you pronounce us yours and mine, and that is so much more profound than whatever words society has ever come up with. 'husband'. Means 'house occupier'. What a dull and uninspired word. It would never suffice to describe the fiery passionate desperate bond of two men who have nothing to lose but each other._

_I move my hand and yours, and pull your chest to mine, heart to heart, the letters bleeding into one another, my head on your shoulder. "You may kiss the mine," I mumble in your ear, and lean my head back to kiss you, deeply, drowning in the sensation of the blood mingling, our mouths merging, the distinction between 'you' and 'me' blurring until all there is is us._

 

 

The Kiss is unlike any I've ever experienced before... your lips are pressing firmly against mine, and there's sweetness and possessiveness intermingling - promising pleasures yet to come. I gently push my tongue into your mouth - you let me in, and the kiss deepens. Our bleeding wounds are pressed against each other, and our hands are caressing faces, backs, arms...

It feels like an age has passed us by, before I realize we're still kissing and I have no idea how much time has passed.

Ruefully, I pull away to breathe. You seem shocked, like you've forgotten about anything that exists outside the kiss. I sure did... I didn't even realize we were still kneeling on the floor.

"Not that I have any complaints, but technically isn't the person who was kneeling supposed to be the one who asked? Pushy..." I murmur, and pull you down to sitting. We lean against the back of the sofa where you had sat during my very recent meltdown. But now it feels like it happened to other people, and technically it sort of did. I push your head down on my shoulder. I wrap an arm around your waist. And I close my eyes and sigh like someone who's been longing to rest for a very long time.

We sit peacefully and I revel in the sensation of your skin touching mine, the feeling of your breathing against me. And then my eyes fly open.  
"Wait a second... did you sneak in _obey_ , you little fucker?"

 

 

_You pull away and I’m unable to focus for a second - unaware where I am, what’s happening._

_Oh yes. Sebastian._

_You pull me up, into an embrace that feels like peace, finally, the edginess of you slightly softened. Then a penny drops._

_I smile. “First of all, you *_ _did*_ _do the asking. You were practically begging. You’d lost your way home - I *_ _am*_ _your home, Seb. It’s small and it’s broken and unhinged, but it’s the best home you’ve ever had.”_

_I snuggle closer, stroking your leg, chuckle._

_“And I didn’t sneak anything. Obey is in the traditional wedding vows. You know me, traditionalist through and through.”_

_I look at you. “You didn’t ask me to vow anything yet. Would you like to?”_

 

I ponder this as you snuggle against me, laughing softly - I guess I _was_ asking you after all... to be yours, and for you to be mine, for always. I couldn't clearly articulate in that broken moment - but trust my clever little fucker to hear what was in my heart.

You're looking at me now, asking about vows. You know me, Jim - I'm not one for words, as a rule... But then, this is a pretty fucking special occasion. The old rules don't seem to apply anymore, and the new rules have yet to be formed.

So in this in-between place where we still find ourselves, I turn to you now. One arm is still around you. I leave your hand on my leg, and place the other one on my initials carved over your heart, and I cover it with mine.

"Do you, James Isaac Moriarty, take me, Sebastian Patrick Moran, to be your... unlawfully wedded whatever we are..." I can't help but chuckle, as I look into your eyes.

"To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer and even richer..." I grin, and squeeze your hand.

"In sickness and perversity, to love and to cherish, till death do us part..." I look at you intently - _remember your promise, Jim... do not leave this world without taking me with you..._ Slowly and gently, I caress your face. "According to our holy ordinance, thereto do you pledge me your troth?" I ask in a low voice, and my hand tightens over yours.

_Ooh, nice addition, Seb. Also, good memory, considering you looked completely out of it._

_I look into your eyes, and solemnly say "I do." Put your hand on your chest and hold it with my hand: "Those whom we have joined together let no man put asunder."_

_Then I grin: "I'd like to see them try."_

 

 

 

\---------- End of Book I ----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed Kiss or Kill, be sure to read the sequel: Unholy Union, which starts immediately after this sweet moment. How long will the wedded bliss last?
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923773/chapters/34571961

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist : ) 
> 
> Chapter 1:  
> Superbeast - Rob Zombie  
> Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums - A Perfect Circle  
> Bodies- Drowning Pool  
> Penetrate- Godhead  
> Before I'm Dead- Kidneythieves  
> Bang Bang (My Baby Shot me Down) - Nancy Sinatra  
> Pushit - Tool  
> The Handler - Muse  
> Low Man's Lyric - Metallica  
> You Got a Nerve - Rod Stewart  
> No Light, No Light - Florence and the Machine  
> Only - Nine Inch Nails  
> My Sacrifice - Creed  
>   
> Chapter 2:  
> Down With the Sickness - Disturbed  
> Shut Me Up - Mindless Self Indulgence  
> Barrel of a Gun- Depeche Mode  
> Tainted Love- Marilyn Manson  
> Excess- Tricky  
> Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs  
> Nightmare (Chiller Twist Snowdrop remix)- Brainbug  
> Never Let Me Down Again- Depeche Mode  
> Lover Lover Lover - Leonard Cohen  
>   
> Chapter 3:  
> Master and Servant - Depeche Mode  
> But Not Tonight - Depeche Mode  
> Seven Nation Army - The Glitch Mob  
> Your Silent Face- New Order  
> Love Will Tear Us Apart- Joy Division  
> Sweet Dreams- Marilyn Manson  
> Wandering Star- Portishead
> 
> Chapter 4:  
> All Mine- Portishead  
> Angel - Massive Attack  
> Poison - Prodigy  
> Orgasm Addict- Buzzcocks  
> Golden Brown - The Stranglers  
> Numb- Portishead
> 
> Chapter 5:  
> Face to Face - Siouxsie and the Banshees  
> Post Blue- Placebo  
> Filthy Mind- Amanda Ghost  
> Policy of Truth- Depeche Mode  
> Dazzle- Siouxsie and the Banshees
> 
> Chapter 6:  
> Closer - Nine Inch Nails  
> This Maniac's in Love with you - Alice Cooper  
> Hunter - Portishead  
> Sleep Together - Porcupine Tree  
> I Believe in You - Neil Young  
>   
> Chapter 7:  
> Frail (You Might as Well Be Me) - The Gathering  
> Snowy in F# Minor - Tindersticks  
> mOBSCENE - Marilyn Manson  
> It must be love - Madness  
> Home - Depeche Mode  
> St Anger - Metallica  
> Part of Me - Tool


End file.
